


Iniquity

by Redgeandlilly



Series: Anita Blake: Night Heiress [1]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Badass normal, Butchering French language and culture, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Gratuitous use of the words flavor and spill, Light Angst, Mommy Issues, Spitefic, all the homo in the world, bisexual Anita, gratuitous and possibly inaccurate French, raging bicuriosity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 71,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22310098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redgeandlilly/pseuds/Redgeandlilly
Summary: Anita Blake doesn't play well with others. But when the master of the city uncovers information that could bring down her carefully crafted world, Anita has no choice but to cooperate with her demands. Four vampires are dead, killed in what looks to be a rapidly escalating hate crime, and Nikolaos wants the killer found, brought to swift and brutal justice. Anita delves into a world of sensuality and violence unlike anything she's ever encountered before, led ever deeper by a compelling master vampire and minor celebrity Jeanette Davenay.Guilty Pleasures Fix-It fic. Some alterations to canon. A little tiny bit of a spitefic.
Series: Anita Blake: Night Heiress [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823521
Comments: 55
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here it goes. This is my first ever fix-it fic. A reworking of Guilty Pleasures. 
> 
> I've kind of got a love-hate relationship with the Anita Blake series. Unlike most people I've encountered, I seem to have picked it up later in life, and thus don't have nostalgia goggles where it's concerned. I also ended up picking it up mid-series, after it jumped the shark, so to speak. My local library only had a few audiobooks, and the one I listened to was Cerulean Sins. Hoo boy. Even when I went back to when the books were much better, I still found what I called Hamilton-isms. Everyone shares the same verbal tics. Misogyny is pretty rampant. Anita slowly but surely loses her conscience. There's plenty of slut-shaming and fat-shaming and an emphasis on not being "girly." 
> 
> While I think Hamilton can be a good writer and has excellent concepts, I feel like they're ultimately squandered on a character that has tipped from anti-hero into a straight-up villain in her own series. Which would be fine, if it were intentional. Instead, we're still supposed to be rooting for this character even though she's become despicable. Thus, fix-it fic. I want to keep Anita in a sort of good/morally grey area without changing too much in the series. I am giving her an alternate backstory because the constant mother angst annoys me. I'm toning it down and making her treatment of Judith a lot less hostile. I've also changed a bit with her college fiance, giving her a much richer backstory and a really good reason to hate/hunt vampires besides just being kind of behind the times/slightly biggoted. I'm also changing the way becoming master of the city works because there's no freaking way that a democratic nation like the United States is essentially allowing a separate feudal society to co-exist with its borders. Book names will also be changed and I may end up trying to do it for the whole series up to Serpentine. We will see. This will be taking place in the 2010s because I'm lazy and I don't want to go back and research the nineties tech and current events. I was only one year old when the series was first published. Ack.
> 
> All that said, I hope that you guys enjoy this fic. I'm sure there will be some backlash as well, but I'm hoping it's minimal. I'm not religiously up to date on canon, so if you spot errors that aren't just canon divergence, let me know.

I hadn't seen Willie McCoy since he'd died. Embraced the reaper and promptly gotten spit back as if he'd tasted bad, becoming an undead monstrosity instead. His mother had tried to have him staked. A judge had overturned the ruling.

So here he was, in all his undead glory, ruining my day. And here I thought that I couldn't dislike the little rat-faced bastard more than I already did. Life has a funny way of challenging your perceptions like that.

He stood out against the muted colors of my office like a Dali painting, eye-catching and full of improbable patterns. His polyester pants were the color of ripe asparagus, the sports jacket a tartan nightmare that would have made any Scotsman proud. He had his hair slicked back away from a thin, pointy face Lugosi-style and his beady eyes darted around the office every few seconds, like the powder-blue walls and Spartan furnishings made him nervous. 

I thought the truth was more that he didn't want to meet my eyes after what had happened the last time we'd been in the same room. After he'd gotten my fiance killed. 

He glared at the no-smoking sign I'd hung on one wall. There was one posted outside the walls of the firm as well, so it might have been considered overkill. I didn't really care. I didn't like smoking. And the state of Missouri agreed with me, apparently. Public smoking had been banned outside most major businesses. 

"Fucking liberals," Willie muttered. "Don't suppose you'll let me ignore it and smoke anyway?" 

"Not a chance," I said coldly. "What are you doing here Willie? I thought we had an understanding."

The understanding that if I saw him in anything other than an official capacity, I was going to shove my Browning Hi-Power up his undead ass and give him a silver enema. I'd been expecting to catch at least a few glimpses of him since Detective Rudolph Storr had been dragging me in to consult on more cases of late. Willie had been a career snitch for Saint Louis PD, trading safety from his big bad criminal bosses for information and the promise of police protection if he ever got caught. 

Not necessary now that he was a vampire, protected by the Master of the City. Armed with a bulwark of lawyers that stretched from Saint Louis to Albuquerque, no police officer in their right mind would press the issue.

Which begged the question of why the hell he'd decided to risk this meeting. 

I wanted to raise my eyes and glare murder at him, but I didn't. You didn't do that sort of thing with vampires. Not every vampire was strong enough to give you the full mind-whammy-rolling, as they lovingly refer to it-but it's a dangerous habit to get into. Eyes down or just to the side, always. After Addison vs Clark, the case that had shone a spotlight on vampires years back, the use of vampire powers to compel someone into action was supposed to be illegal. Willie might be unscrupulous enough to ignore that rule if he thought he might get away with it.

Willie's fingers twitched, still jonesing for that cigarette. He pulled a pack of toothpicks from the inner pocket of the sports jacket instead and tapped one into his palm, flicking it up to his mouth, wedging it between the lateral incisor and a wickedly pointed fang. He grimaced, as though it was a poor substitute. 

"Look, I don't want to be here any more than you want me here, Nita. But I don't got no choice." 

"Don't call me that," I snapped, my careful composure slipping by a few degrees. "Only my friends call me that." 

"We used to be friends."

"Not anymore." 

He stared at the side of my face in frosty silence for a long stretch before expelling a breath. "I'm here as a client, Blake. So technically we're still seeing each other in an official capacity. Ya gotta hear me out since your boss has already swiped a chunk of change from me." 

I heaved a sigh as well. Typical Bert. Though he knew how I felt about vampires, he was still going to pressgang me into working for one. Bert Vaughn was a cheerfully avaricious sort of man who made even pre-redemption Scrooge look like an altruist. My contract with his business, Animator's Inc. meant that I had to at least hear Willie out before I kicked him out of my office and told him exactly where he could stick the envelope of money that peeked from his pocket. 

My job was to raise the dead. Animating was a rare talent and one that had started manifesting in me early. Precocious, as my dad used to say. But seeing as Willie was already a corpse, I didn't see what he could possibly want with a zombie. A solitary friend, perhaps? I almost snorted a laugh at the thought.

"You have fifteen minutes," I said, checking the clock mounted on the wall. "Traffic is always a bitch, and I'm not going to be late for my job with the Grundicks. People get jumpy when I leave them in cemeteries too long after dark." 

Willie's chuckle was bleak. "Yeah, I just bet they do. Alright, I'll get to it. I'm here on behalf of Nikolaos." 

That made me sit up and pay attention. I wasn't up to date on vampire politics the way that some people were. I swore it was practically a fetish for most of the masses. But I'm not stupid. I know the name of my senator, the state representative, the governor, and the Master of the City. I'd never laid eyes on her, but just her name had goosebumps popping along my arms. Nothing good could come of being on her radar. 

"And what does Miss Nikki want from me?" I purred, aiming to be as sweet as apple pie, so he wouldn't catch that I was itching to go for the 9mm in my desk. 

"She won't like you calling her that." 

"What does she want?" I repeated, bracing myself for the worst.

"You heard about the murdered vampires they found in the District?" 

"Yeah." 

I hadn't shed many tears over it. Fewer vampires to menace the general populace. But the murders had been splashed across the headlines like lurid red paint, threatening to go national if something wasn't done soon. Four vampires killed in the club district of Saint Louis with their hearts pulped and their heads tossed around like a kid's soccer ball. It was pretty sensational stuff. 

"We want you to look into it." 

I relaxed a fraction. It hadn't been quite as bad as I'd been expecting. 

"Save your money and your breath, Willie. RPIT is already on the case, and thus by extension so am I." 

"Not good enough, Blake," Willie growled, stalking forward a few paces, fangs bared.

My hand inched toward my desk drawer in response. I knew I should have worn the Browning in my holster, damn it. Fuck Bert's rules. Better on me and scaring a few clients than dead without it.  
Willie spotted the movement and paused, getting a handle on himself again. He closes his lips so I couldn't see the fangs glistening in his maw. I didn't have a warrant of execution on him, but I was still within my rights to shoot in self-defense. I knew the judge in this district and that he didn't like vampires much. I didn't think that much would be made of it if Willie forced me to kill him. 

"Nikolaos wants you personally. Just you."

"I'm not a private investigator. Contact Veronica Sims if you want someone to get on it faster." 

"She doesn't know vampires the way you do, Blake. She won't catch the killer in time." 

"Not my problem, Willie. Now buzz off."

"Come on! I'm tryin' to make this easy on ya Blake. I want us to be copacetic, ya hear me? I don't want to play hardball. She's offering you three times your usual rate. Ten grand, Anita. It's all right here in my pocket. You can have it right now." 

I blinked at him. I'd grown up middle-class and made myself a very well-off woman by working this job. Since animating was such a rare talent, it's a lucrative business and there's always call for raising the dead. I didn't need the money. But the number was still impressive. It set alarm bells ringing in my head. No one dropped that amount of green unless there was something dirty going on behind the scenes. I wanted no part of it.

"Get out, Willie." 

He threw his hands up in frustration. "Fuck, Blake. Don't make me do it." 

"Do what?"

He drew the manilla envelope that I'd spotted in his pocket out and then flicked his fingers wide, revealing that there were, in fact, two envelopes in his grip, not just the one. The first was fat, bulging with the money that Willie had offered me. The second wasn't even a quarter of that size, flat as though it contained only flat items, like letters or photographs. 

"Is that supposed to impress me?" I drawled. 

He tapped the fat envelope with one finger. "This is the easy way, Blake. Take the money. You don't want to go route number two." 

A little chill danced along my vertebrae and came to a tingling halt at the base of my spine. Without giving myself much time to think about it, I stood, rounded my desk and stalked toward him as fast as the pencil skirt would allow me. I snatched the flat envelope in his hands and pushed the tines up, emptying the contents onto my desk.

Glossy photos fanned out over the polished wood and came to spinning stops, allowing me to see what was printed on each. My mind went curiously blank for a few seconds, refusing to register. It couldn't be possible. There'd been no one left alive to take these photos. Every single guest at my wedding had been slaughtered by the vampires who'd come after Willie. Every goddamn one of them. 

And yet, there they were. Photos of me, in my bloodstained wedding gown, veil in tatters, bodice ripped, clutching the broken wooden balustrade that I'd used to stab my fiance's murderer in the chest. That wasn't the most concerning bit. Jett Mayer was on public record as my first and unofficial kill. The rest of what I'd done wasn't on the record. Never would be, if I had anything to say about it.

The pictures showed a pair of zombies at my feet, tearing the flesh off of the three human thugs Jett had brought with him. One of my only effective weapons, I'd used them to kill the men trying to kill me. It was self-defense. But that didn't mean the law would see it that way. It was a violation of the magical malfeasance laws put on the books years back to curb the use of black magic. It was a one-way ticket to death row. 

And the Master of the City had proof I'd done it, the connections to get it to a judge if I said no, and the clout to make it stick, no matter how much Saint Louis PD liked me. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

The room grew several degrees colder as my rage swept out from me in a rush of power. I'd been played. There'd never been any choice. From the moment that Willie had stepped in the room, he'd known he'd leave with a yes. 

"Fine," I gritted out between my teeth. "I'll do it. But tell your master to keep her blood money. I'm not someone she can buy." 

Willie nodded wearily, as though this was exactly the answer he'd been expecting. I wondered if I was getting predictable or if Willie really did know me that well. 

"I'll make sure she gets the message. She wants this done within the month, Blake so don't dither. You'll meet her second at this time and address. Don't be late." 

Willie turned to go, opening the door that would eventually take him out to the lobby. He paused, hand resting lightly on the doorjamb. He craned his neck to look at me. 

"I am sorry, you know. About Curtis."

That did it. I finally raised my eyes to meet his, consequences be damned. He flinched away from the look I leveled at him." 

"Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now." 

Willie didn't argue with me, just cast his eyes down, allowing me the small victory. Then he slipped away, slinking in that silent way that vampires have. It's eerie, how they can seem to go from one end of the room to the next without appearing to move a muscle. One blink Willie was glancing at me wistfully, the next he was gone. 

I rounded the desk and sank back into my chair, legs feeling like jello. I had to find a serial killer sometime in the next month, or I was going to end up on death row. 

And to think, this morning I thought that Catherine's Maison's bachelorette party would be the worst part of my week.


	2. Chapter 2

The address on the crisp white business card that Willie had given me was precisely the same as the one I'd been issued earlier in the week by a friend of a friend, Monica Vespucci, who was arranging Catherine's bachelorette party. I wasn't stupid enough to imagine it was a coincidence, especially when I spotted a shiny pin on the collar of her well-cut white silk blouse that read "vampires are people too." 

It should have given me a clue to what the night would entail, but my deductive reasoning had taken a nosedive in recent days as I tried to figure out who the hell could have taken those photos. They'd died. Every single guest had been killed. Even the waitstaff we'd been able to whip up on short notice hadn't been spared. I had a momentary flash of memory, of the chef hunched over the wedding cake, face smashed into the top, the glass figurine shoved into his empty eye socket. His blood filling the contoured ridges of the frosting rosettes like a drizzle of that thick raspberry syrup you get at small mom and pop places for your pancakes. It soaked into the white spongy interior the way that really good icing does sometimes. 

Monica snapped her fingers in front of my nose, drawing my eyes back to her face with a scowl. I'd been avoiding looking at her for most of the journey. If you don't have anything nice to say, and all that jazz. Just looking at her raised my hackles. She reminded me a lot of Judith, though the pair were physical opposites. Judith was pale and blonde, with hair down to her waist, where Monica kept up scrupulously with a tanning regimen that left her skin glowing a perfect golden brown to offset her short, dark hair. 

It was something about the air they sported, a set to their features that communicated without words that they were disappointed in me and too polite to say it.

"Where's your mind at tonight, space cadet?" she asked with a light laugh. "Aren't you enjoying this at all?"

Not particularly, but I forced a strained smile onto my face for Catherine's sake. I didn't make friends easily or keep them long. To say I was abrasive was an understatement. Even I could acknowledge that. As Socrates once said, know thyself. I was aware it took a special sort of person to put up with the whole host of personal issues I had. Catherine and my friend Ronnie seemed to find my bitchiness endearing somehow. But I knew that spitting nails at her bachelorette party was pushing it one step too far. 

See? Tact. I employed it on occasion. 

There were only three of us in the car. Putting things off to the last minute, Monica had only been able to wrangle me into joining them. I wouldn't have even shown if I'd had a choice in the matter. My nerves were worn down to the quick, throbbing and raw. Maybe it was better that there were only three of us. Fewer people who might get hurt if things got nasty. I just knew things weren't going to end well.

"I'm just tired," I muttered. "Bert overbooked me again. Six raisings in one night and I haven't been sleeping well regardless." 

Catherine's pale grey-green eyes widened in concern. "Honey, you could have canceled if you weren't feeling up to it." 

Even her springy copper curls quivered with frenetic energy. Her hair was wilder even than mine, which was a feat. With my mother's Mexican roots, my dark hair was unmanageable on the best of days and unbearable when the Missouri summer humidity hit its zenith.

"I'm fine, really. Just don't expect me to be a scintillating conversationalist," I mumbled.

Monica gave a small snicker and leaned forward to pat my knee and whisper conspiratorially. I considered her hand for a moment, wondering if I could get away with jamming her fingers. It wouldn't be permanently damaging, but it would convince her not to touch me again, that was for damn sure. I wasn't much for physical comfort in general, and especially not now, when I was exhausted and scared of the coming confrontation.

"There's not going to be a lot of talking at Iniquity. Stripping is more of a spectator's sport, really."

I nearly groaned. Iniquity. The vampire strip club sequestered in the heart of the Riverfront, or Blood Square, to use the less politically correct and more accurate term. Iniquity was a novelty within the city of Saint Louis that paid the undead and various therianthropes to bare all to the public in every sense. I'd never understood why women flocked there in droves. Watching a therian go from man to beast wasn't especially pretty. Must have been a guilty pleasure for some.

Yeah, baby, give me that ectoplasm. So sexy. 

The car came to a shuddering stop four blocks away from Iniquity. I paid the fee for our space in the parking garage, too tired and annoyed to argue with them about who else might do it. Ironically, we were feet away from where the last murder had occurred. I doubted that factoid would go over well and I pressed my mouth into a line, staying resolutely silent as I sidled behind the pair. 

Monica swayed down the street in a happy little zig-zag already having imbibed a couple of drinks with dinner. Seemed like the chicken carbonara hadn't done its job soaking up the alcohol. I also bit back a superior "I told you so." I didn't like alcohol. Any mind-altering substance really. The world was more dangerous with vampires walking around with their newfound rights, unable to be put down as easily as they once had been. I couldn't afford to go staggering through it drunk off my ass when there were things in the dark that'd love to take a bite out of it. 

We turned a corner and there it was. There wasn't a red carpet or velvet rope, as I'd half-expected. The neon sign above the door drenched all three of us in red light, and I drew a grim little comparison to Carrie in my mind. My premonition that this night was not going to turn out well just grew stronger. 

Any happy little thought, Anita, I thought to myself acerbically.

An undead bouncer waited by the door. He had a dark crew cut and blue-gray eyes that appeared almost colorless in the light of the sign, reflecting back its image like glass. I put him at about twenty or thirty years undead after a moment of consideration. He didn't have the supercharged aura that older vamps got. He might have been hard to finger as a vampire without my animator's senses. He was flushed, the result of a good feeding. I wondered what poor sap he'd ended up sucking the life from.

Monica approached the vampire standing at the door with what was supposed to be a sensual wiggle of her hips. It just looked like she was trying not to tip over, especially when she shot out a hand to grasp his bicep. 

"Hello there Mr. Muscles," she cooed. 

He flashed her a sharp-toothed grin, his fangs glistening in the crimson light. "Hey yourself, beautiful. Come to show me a good time?"

Catherine shrank away from the vampire a few steps, and I mentally added a few points to her IQ. Fear was a very reasonable, very intelligent reaction to vampires. Thus, it didn't surprise me in the least that Monica had none. 

She smacked his bicep. "You're incorrigible, Buzz. Is our table ready? I want to show my friends a good time." 

Buzz the vampire? She couldn't be serious, right? If there was a Gunter in there somewhere, I was going to start looking for the cameras, because I was clearly being punked. 

The fact that Monica could wrangle a table at Iniquity on short notice was interesting though. There was a waiting list for parties that stretched the length of the Missouri River, so she had to have serious clout. Who was she blowing to secure an invitation? 

Monica slung an arm around Catherine's waist and pulled her toward the door, bypassing Buzz easily. He watched the shape of Monica's admittedly toned ass beneath her skirt as she disappeared into the interior of the club. I could hear the pulsing bass beat filtering through the open entryway. It sounded like an eighties song. Something from Warrant or Def Leppard, maybe. If this had been a typical day, I'd have taken the opportunity to escape the awkward situation the moment they'd slipped inside. I could have called Ronnie to come pick me up or if she was busy on a case, I could call Zebrowski. Dolph would even do in a pinch. They all owed me from last time. They could at least spare me the hour it would take to get back to my apartment and the gas money to get there. 

It wasn't a normal day, though. Buzz knew it too if the look he was giving me was any indication. I was a hundred percent sure didn't know the whole story. Buzz was big, bulky, and built to intimidate, but he was also new undead and a grunt. Nikolaos wasn't going to bandy about her insurance policy to the help. 

Buzz's arm shot out to stop me as I attempted to follow Monica in. The mask of genial doorman dropped from his face at once and he scowled at me. He jerked his head toward the sign on the door. It read "no crosses, crucifixes, or other holy items allowed inside." 

"I'm not getting rid of the cross," I told him flatly. It had been given to me by Curtis as a gift. I wasn't going to allow anyone the chance to steal all I had left of him. I did the next best thing though, and tucked it into the blouse, pressing it into the deep line of my cleavage.

"I'm supposed to check you, lady. It's more than my paycheck's worth to let you if you're packing any heat," Buzz said.

I reached automatically toward the side holster that held my Browning Hi-Power. It was reflexive these days. Some people squeezed stress balls or rubbed worry stones. I kept at least one weapon on my person at all times. The one occasion I hadn't been armed had left me almost helpless during one of the worst nights of my life. 

I had more than just the Browning on my person, of course. I wasn't walking into a confrontation with Nikolaos and her toadies without having something on hand. It was a safe bet that the gun would be confiscated. There were wrist sheaths fixed to both my wrists, concealed by the red blouse I wore tucked into simple dark jeans. Those would probably be found as well. The remaining weapons I had on my person were held in place by the tight waistband of my jeans. A pair of folded pocket knives, with two-inch blades. Not long enough to reach a vampire's heart, but definitely long enough to remove an eyeball or two if anyone got in my face. 

But my real secret weapon hadn't failed me yet because it was so often overlooked. Even now, Buzz's eyes were all for the subtle bulges of my gun and wrist sheaths, not paying much attention to my hair at all. I breathed out an almost inaudible sound of relief. At least I'd probably keep one weapon on my person. 

I'd gotten the idea ironically from Judith, during a visit home. She'd wrangled me into a boring half hour of staring at glossy wedding magazines. Said it would give me ideas when I was ready to date again. 

It was going to be a cold day in hell before I'd step up to the altar again, but telling Judith that didn't dissuade her. 

Still, it hadn't been a total waste of time. If she'd had any idea that the endless slog of wedding talk had inspired this particular brainchild, she'd have burst an artery. When Judith was trying to decide whether hair combs or hairpins would look better in my unmanageable mane, I'd discovered that some of them were the ideal length for stabbing, if you had the raw strength to put behind the blow. They could be fashioned out of silver or wood, though plain old steel would work if you could shred the heart. 

I'd bought two plain pins and stuck on a few cheap rhinestones to keep them looking shiny and innocuous. The thick, springy curls that had always been the bane of my existence actually worked to my advantage, concealing their length and lethal edges. 

As I'd expected, he reached for the gun first. I beat him to it, drawing the Browning from the holster before he could react in time to stop me. He froze at once, eyes huge in his big, broad face. The urge to plug him was almost irresistible. Anger coated my tongue, the taste of metal thick in my throat. I wanted someone dead for this and he was a convenient target for the pulsing rage. 

But if I pulled the trigger, several things were likely to happen. Buzz would die, yes, but he wouldn't be the only one. People would spill out of the building, jostling in their panic. Vampires would attack, heedless of the hapless mortals in their way, and people would get hurt, not just the ones I wanted to fill with holes. So I swallowed back the thick rage and removed the Browning's magazine, offering it to the still petrified Buzz.

"How about you hold onto this?" I said with a smile. I rarely practiced it, and it was alway unpleasant and at someone else's expense. "I'll keep the rest." 

I was just willing to bet that this Buzz was not knowledgeable about how the gun worked beyond the fact that when it went boom something died. I doubted he knew I still had a round in the chamber. 

Sure enough, he nodded and pocketed the magazine before resuming his search. I was divested of the knives in my wrist sheaths as well. When he shoved his hands in my pockets, I almost decked him. If he got handsy with me, I was killing him and I was going to get creative while doing it. 

He withdrew a wad of loose bills that Monica had given both Catherine and I. I probably should have asked her why I'd need so many ones. Buzz smirked and folded them over neatly and handed them back to me before moving on to the billfold and finally the small compact I had shoved down to the bottom. 

He raised a brow at me. "What's this?" 

"Can't you read?" 

He examined the label. "Bare Minerals concealer? Whatcha need that for?" 

I tapped the side of my nose with another chilly smile and a wink. "Girl's gotta powder her nose sometimes."

In reality, it had been another present from Judith that I rarely ever used. So I'd dumped the lot of it into the trash and filled it with garlic instead. Garlic couldn't kill vampires, but they disliked it. It was like dropping a stink bomb into the middle of the room and it could offer me a crucial second's advantage if things got ugly. 

Buzz snorted. "You get any paler and you'll look like one of us. You don't need this stuff."

It was true. I'd inherited my strong European bone structure and ivory skin from my father's Germanic roots, and my hair, full lips, and dark eyes from my Hispanic mother. 

"Yeah, well some of us still get pimples." 

He slapped it back into my palm with a roll of pale eyes. I poorly hid a smirk. Sucker. 

"Is that all?" he asked after another few minutes of searching. 

"All you're going to find without receiving a sexual harassment lawsuit," I informed him in a falsely cheerful tone. 

For the first time since he spotted me, Buzz's expression slid from wary to speculative, a light leer forming on his face as he took me in. There wasn't much to look at. I had to actively try to find people shorter than me. And those who were smaller usually didn't share my...generous proportions. 

"Might be worth it," he said with an unrepentant grin. 

I tapped my foot impatiently on the pavement, regretting my decision not to swiss cheese him more with every second. "Am I free to go in now?" 

Buzz nodded and gestured for me to proceed. Taking a deep breath to steel myself I mounted the stairs and stepped foot into Iniquity for the first time. 

The air changed almost immediately, becoming muggier, sweeter, caressed by just a hint of incense or perfume. Emotion charged the air, perceptible to even my dull human senses. Fear, anticipation, and lust all mixed together into a bouquet that was sure to entice every single vampire and therian in the place. The crackle of fear didn't alarm me unduly. It was the sort of fear one got when watching skydiving or going bungee jumping for the first time. The fear that accompanied something risky but controlled, and that you hoped, somewhere in a dark place in your soul, would fail, so you knew what it felt like to be truly free before the end.

I spotted Monica and Catherine already seated at a table near the stage, so they'd have an excellent view of whatever was coming next. Catherine was leaning forward, watching the curtains with nervous anticipation. Monica had snared her imagination in the minutes I'd been gone, it seemed. 

I didn't have time for games. I needed to find Nikolaos and I needed to find her quickly. Willie had warned me not to be late. 

Long, shapely fingers ghosted over one of my shoulders, swept down my arm, and came to rest gently on the curve of my waist. The touch was so unexpected that I lashed out on reflex, aiming to break the ribs of whoever had come to stand so near me. 

The vampire who'd had the steel balls it took to touch me so intimately danced out of my way easily, anticipating the reaction. 

"My you're quite jumpy, Mademoiselle Blake." 

The speaker stood a few feet away from me now, her face no less attractive for the smirk that twisted her full, rouged mouth. 

She was dressed in a red pinafore, her hair bound up tightly at the nape of her slender, swan-like neck. She was taller than me by head or two. No shorter than five-eight, I was certain of that without a tape measure. Mary Janes boosted her already unfair height by at least another inch and they forced the eye to follow the long shapely line of leg up to the end of her silk stockings, drawing attention to a gap of creamy flesh that peeked between them and the edge of the skirt. Slender lengths of fabric kept the stockings up and when she moved, I got the barest flash of the matching garter belt she wore.

She was slim and young, the way that girls used to look in sketches or paintings, when food was still scarce and hard to come by, and manual labor a must. There was a difference between lucky genetics and the thinness brought on by starvation. That fact alone made me put her age at two centuries or more, though I couldn't get an accurate read on her, no matter how hard I tried. 

And I knew I was stalling the inevitable moment when I'd have to take in the full, devastating effect of her beauty. It was bad enough to see her on television or on magazine covers. I knew what I'd see if I looked up at her. Long, dark hair that curled lazily at the ends, very unlike my wild corkscrews. Black like a raven's feather that glowed with blue highlights. Half-lidded bedroom eyes, thick lashes that brushed her cheeks, and startlingly blue eyes fixed in a sweet heart-shape. Delicate bone structure, so she looked dainty and breakable. She wasn't, and I knew that for a fact. 

"You should know why, Davenay," I grumbled. "Seeing as your boss is the reason I'm here." 

Jeanette Davenay's very intriguing lips pursed. "Yes. That unpleasantness." 

Her voice was a thick, throaty purr that made the mind conjure up sweaty bedroom theatrics. I hated that it touched something in me. Something that had been as dead as Curtis for three years.

"That's one way to put it," I said with a snort. "What are you doing here? You have other businesses to run."

Jeanette was a minor celebrity and no one could quite believe she'd decided to settle in Saint Louis of all places. She'd been a model for several years working beneath the label of one of Belle Morte's many fashion lines. Then for years after that, she'd been making her own way, releasing makeup and perfume lines, starting businesses, and starring on various reality TV shows. She'd been nominated for an Oscar at least once. And she owned four businesses in Saint Louis that I knew of. Who knew how many others she'd become a silent partner in?

I'd seen her in person exactly once when Curtis and I had gone to Paramour, the combination of five-star restaurant and lounge. She was the star attraction there on Mondays and Fridays, and we'd had our last slow dance while she'd crooned the lyrics to "Truly, Madly, Deeply." Seeing her here, now, brought on pain more poignant than I'd expected, reminding me that the brief interlude of happiness I'd been allowed in life was gone.

"I was hoping to ask for a favor, actually," she said. 

I arched a brow at her. "You think now is a good time?" 

"I think now is the only time, ma petit chou," she murmured. "I want to help you and I think you can help me." 

I dared a very brief glance up at her stunning face, trying to determine whether she was serious or not. Her face was curiously blank, the way that vampires can manage when they're trying to hide strong emotion. Every single muscle, hair, and fluid in a vampire's body was technically inert, and all it took was concentration to lock the entire body down.

"Why the hell would I help you?" I hissed back. 

"Because," she murmured as the lights came up and the curtain swished back from the stage at the front of the room, "I'm your only hope of emerging from this alive."


	3. Chapter 3

Jeanette didn't say more, striding past me in a sway of hips, leaving the subtle scent of her perfume lingering in the air and on my skin. It was that sweet, sinful smell of a freshly baked red velvet cupcake. Her signature scent, bottled and sold for the masses now, bearing the same name as the club. Iniquity. Sinful, temptation incarnate. 

I gave a small, humorless snort. Of course she'd leave me hanging. The definition of tease had a picture of Jeanette Devanay slapped beside it on the page. I watched her as she strode away, long-legged and exuding confident sexuality. She threw one coy glance and a smirk over her shoulder at me, watching me watch her walk away. I tore my eyes away from her with the human approximation of a growl. 

Damn it, I'd been watching her ass. What the hell was wrong with me? She was a vampire, and an old one at that. Powerful enough to roll me with one look, if I gave her the chance. She could turn by brain inside out, have me licking the shiny black tops of her Mary Janes, and make me like it. 

I lifted my hand to stroke the silver cross through the fabric. The blocky contours of it helped me to clutch the frayed edges of my nerves and hold things together.

"What happened to 'let's talk?'" I muttered beneath by breath. 

I was sure she wouldn't hear it over the pumping bass beat of a Mötley Crüe song. To my surprise, she laughed, the sound somehow stroking the inside of my skull like velvet rubbed the wrong way. Involuntary goosebumps leapt up in the wake of the sensual but slightly eerie sound. 

"All in due time, little animator. For now, enjoy the show." 

Her voice carried to me over the noise of the crowd, and yet, strangely, no one turned their head to look at me. It was as though they'd heard nothing at all. 

"Aniiitta!" Monica singsonged from the front of the room. 

I struggled to find her in the midst of nervously shifting bodies, even though I knew precisely where she and Catherine ought to be sitting. She'd stretched her torso as long as she could so as to be seen above the crowd. She was fanning her hand eagerly, beckoning me toward them. 

"Aniiitta," she cooed again. "Come on, the show's about to start!" 

I blew out a sharp, frustrated sound and then stalked through the crowd toward Monica. I wasn't sure what the whole point of this charade was, except maybe to piss me off. What did Nikolaos think this was going to accomplish? Was it supposed to turn me on? Distract me? Entice me to come and work for her? 

Hell if I knew. 

The tablecloth brushed my knees when I sank into the chair next to Catherine's. There were several unoccupied chairs at our table, as if Monica had expected more people to show up. She was taking advantage of the space, sitting in the chair closest to the stage. If I'd been in a more charitable mood, I'd have told her that seats in the middle were always better, no matter the entertainment you watched. Close enough to see the action, but not so close as to wrench your neck trying to watch the damn thing. 

A male vampire stepped out of the wings so suddenly that it took even me by surprise. He just seemed to appear from behind the royal blue of the curtain, blending almost seamlessly with it for a second before the shape separated itself from all that fluttering fabric. He wasn't incredibly tall for a man, perhaps only as tall as Jeanette. Five eight or so, but he made up for the lack of height in sheer presence. The second that he appeared, all eyes swiveled to him and stuck there. 

He was alabaster pale, which contrasted starkly with the vivid blue of his velvet suit and set off his eyes, which were a perfect aquamarine. Lightly curling black hair had been swept into a tail. But for the aura, he could have been Jeanette's fraternal twin. This one's age I could pin down easily. A century, maybe a little less, but certainly no more than that. Not new dead but definitely not ancient either. 

"Who's that?" Catherine asked in a breathless whisper. 

She couldn't seem to wrench her gaze away from the newcomer. I was having a hell of a time doing it either, but I managed by leaning back on my power. I controlled the dead, not the other way around. 

Monica let out a knowing chuckle. "That's Keats, the announcer. He's _gorgeous_ , isn't he? Though personally, Robert's my favorite. Or maybe Phillip. God, it's so hard to choose!" 

Just Keats? Like Madonna or Cher? I really hoped that Keats was a stage name, not one he'd assumed or been given at birth. Talk about pretentious. 

A hush came over the crowd as Keats glided to center stage and let his gaze sweep out over the crowd. 

"Welcome to Guilty Pleasures. We are here to serve you. To make your most evil thought come true."

Any evil little thought? I wondered wryly. Because I was having a few about Nikolaos right about now. 

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to feel my breath upon your skin? My lips along your neck. The hard brush of teeth. The sweet, sharp pain of fangs. Your heart beating frantically against my chest. Your blood flowing into my veins. Sharing yourself. Giving me life. Knowing that I truly could not live without you, all of you."

I could feel the sensual pull of his voice, see the effect it had on almost every other woman in the room. Catherine, who was ready to marry the love of her life in just a few short weeks, looked ready to jump him. He was using vampire wiles, even if it was subtle. I'd never understand why the government had permitted that, even if it was just for public performances. All it took was one bad apple to roll an entire crowd and go on a rampage to ruin everyone's fun. 

I kept my eyes firmly to the side of Keats, watching the curtain instead of the vampire. I'd never actually been to a strip show, as I'd never had a bachelorette party. My wedding had been impromptu, put together in a week and a half. After Curtis' mother, Eden Davis, had refused to bless the engagement (rather snottily suggesting that Curtis leave me so I could date "my own kind") he'd insisted on a service. I'd been all for the justice of the peace. No muss no fuss. But he wanted a church wedding. 

My heart squeezed painfully. Curtis had tried to show that, no matter what his racist relatives thought, he loved me. 

And it had gotten him killed. _I'd_ gotten him killed, because I was too damn slow. 

"Our first gentleman tonight shares your fantasy. He wanted to know how the sweetest of kisses would feel. He has gone before you to tell you that it is wondrous. Phillip is with us tonight."

Monica let out a girlish squeal, already fishing in her purse for a wad of bills. 

The curtain swept away to reveal a young man. Thick brown hair that brushed his shoulders, though wasn't as long or luxuriant as Keats'. Well-built and doing his best Travolta impression in a white shirt I was sure would be sleeveless when he removed the black leather jacket. Black pants, black boots. All he was missing was a cigarette and a backup chorus asking him to tell them more. 

He began to dance and I tried not to look. I didn't know this man, didn't really want to see him strip down to a g-string and shake what the good Lord had given him. I'd only ever seen one man naked and, given the direction my life had been going, it was probably the only naked male body I'd see. But it was difficult to ignore the admittedly handsome, gyrating man. I could see why he'd have fans. 

Then he stripped the jacket and shirt off and I gasped. 

Phillip was absolutely covered in bite marks. His neck, his torso, the crooks of his elbows. I was willing to bet when he tugged the pants off there'd be more gathered at his groin. Anywhere there was a prominent vein, he had bites. They mounded in places, not unlike the scar tissue I had from a hunt gone wrong. Good God, how many of them had fed on him for his body to look like this? 

He moved through the crowd then, letting women touch him, stroke the scars, even lick them. Monica gave him a fifty just so she could press her teeth into one of the more recent scars. Phillip arched his back, pressing into her, straddling her lap. I couldn't tell if the ecstasy was real, or an act to turn Monica on. All it was doing was making me faintly nauseous. 

What was the fucking point to all of this? What did Nikolaos want me to take from this experience? 

A new vampire, announced as Robert, appeared. He was dressed in a billowing pirate shirt like an undead Fabio. He stalked to the stage, eyes sure of purpose, and cornered Phillip. He looked frightened and I half rose out of my seat as Robert wrenched Phillips arm, pulling him forward, trapping the hand behind his back. Then he flashed a triumphant look out at the crowd and bared his fangs with a hiss. 

I guessed what was about to happen a second before it did. I was fully out of my chair now, hands clenched into fists. 

"No," I whispered, soft but fervent. "No, he's not under, you _can't._ " 

But Robert could. And he did. 

He struck, sinking his fangs deep into Phillip's flesh. The music stopped abruptly, letting Phillip's shriek echo through the crowd. Then he moaned, loud and long. I could see the hard line of him pressed against the front of his pants. 

He was getting off on this. Jesus. 

Robert dropped Phillip after what seemed like an eternity. Phillip was breathing hard, pale but alive. Thank God. 

Monica tugged me back into my seat and I dropped down without struggle, my knees about the consistency of Jello. Why did anyone come here? How was this titillating? Was I the only sane one in the room? 

Keats whispered, "Who wants a kiss?"

For a second, no one was brave enough to move. Then hands finally jutted into the air, Monica's the most frantic among them. Robert leapt down from the stage, intent on her. She tucked money into his waistband, hands eager on other, harder things. Robert descended on her with another animalistic sound and pressed his bloodied mouth to hers. There was tongue, and blood smeared on Monica's face like macabre lipstick.

I retched. 

The sound was enough to draw Robert's eyes to me, and he paused just for a second, eyes going flat with dislike as he took me in. Good. I didn't fucking like him either. 

He moved away after a minute. I did my best not to look and only caught brief glimpses from then on. There seemed to be a pattern to the acts. Vampires, occasionally with human partners, and then therians. It was a little easier to watch the therian acts. My preternatural biology classes had covered therians and the basics of the change. It was strange to watch a fairly buff man change into say, a leopard or a hyena, but it was less disconcerting than the vampire acts. A blonde werewolf named Jason gave me a flirty wink and suggestive roll of hips as he stripped off his pants. 

"And for our final act, we need volunteers," Keats purred. "Is anyone brave enough? Do you dare?"

Monica was on her feet in an instant, trooping up toward the stage. She snatched Catherine's hand, guiding her up the steps as well. I wasn't fast enough to yank either of them back and cursed. 

Keats only allowed seven women on the stage and I saw to my relief that at least four of them were undead. Plants, there to make the performance convincing without hurting anyone. I relaxed back into my seat. Vampires didn't get anything from feeding on one another, but my classes had informed me it could still be a sexual practice among vampires.

Jeanette was among them, standing out from the crowd of admittedly beautiful girls. I wasn't sure why more eyes weren't fixed on her. Vampire wiles? Was I the only one seeing her as she truly was? _Was_ I seeing her as she truly was? 

Vampires gave me migraines. 

Three more vampires accompanied Keats on stage. Robert, a man who'd been introduced as Aubrey, and another I hadn't caught in my effort not to listen. All of them were tensed, coiled with predatory grace. Violence and raw need charged the air. They circled, sizing up the women like a lion examines a herd of antelope. Which was the weakest? Which was the tastiest? 

Keats moved first, the motion so sudden and savage that it drew gasps from the crowd. His hand shoved into Jeanette's hair and he clutched it by the roots. She let out a shriek that made goosebumps pop along the skin of my arm. Similar screams went up from two other vampires. The crowd echoed them, astonished by this turn of events. Everyone moved to the edge of their seats, watching horrified. 

Keats lips hovered over Jeanette's and then he claimed that lush mouth, kissing her with enough passion to scorch the stage. A sharp pang of envy twisted beneath my navel, try as I might not to feel it. I couldn't focus much on the other acts, too consumed watching that kiss.

He trailed more sharp kisses across her cheek, the line of her jaw, and I expected him to bare his fangs and bite Jeanette when he reached the carotid. He didn't. He trailed lower and lower until he reached the pinafore. Keats bared his teeth in frustration when he encountered fabric and tore it away, eliciting another cry from Jeanette. 

She was good. Very, very good. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought she was a terrified victim. 

Keats sank his fangs into the swell of one of her modest breasts and her back arched, scream shifting abruptly to a moan. Keats' hunger rode over the crowd and sparked an illusion. Every single one of us in his arms, taking in that sweet pain-pleasure that a vampire's kiss could be. 

And then...the strangest thing happened. New power rushed like wind over my skin and suddenly the perspective flipped. 

I had a double helping of the power as Jeanette's need lashed out and targeted me specifically, mingled the illusion so that _I_ seemed to be the one with an arm around her waist, _my_ body that trapped hers, _my_ mouth on her throat.

Her breath heaved against my chest, the small moan that spilled from her lips was all for me. She was mine-

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She'd rolled me. How the hell had she managed to roll me, even as briefly as that?

I shook my head, mad as hell at my body's reaction to the illusion of holding her. The vampire was going to owe me a new pair of underwear if she kept this bullshit up. 

And then I saw something that chilled my blood. The vampire Aubrey had his hand clasped around Catherine's throat, angling it just so. Her eyes were glazed, her body pliant. The vampire had bespelled her. Fuck. 

I was on my feet again before I knew it, using Monica's empty chair as a springboard to reach the stage. The landing made a dull thump that was almost immediately lost in a hip-hop rendition of Toccata and Fugue that had been playing in the background of this little melodrama. 

All heads on stage turned to face me, but for Catherine's. Monica was glaring daggers at me, as though I was ruining all her fun. The other two women took the opportunity to flee back to their seats, which left eight vampires on stage. I wasn't sure if Jeanette would join the dogpile or not, which still left me facing more vampires than I'd ever dreamed of taking on at once. I really didn't like my chances. 

But what choice was there? They'd rolled my friend, and they were going to hurt her. I had to do something.

"Let her go, Aubrey," I said in a low warning tone. "Or this is going to get ugly." 

"You have no power here, Executioner," he said smugly, tugging Catherine closer. "You're outnumbered and have no stakes to speak of." 

"Think you're man enough to end me?" I asked, an edge of taunt in the question. "Let's see who ends up pricking who, Aubrey. Bet yours is...less than impressive." 

Aubrey snarled and shoved Catherine away abruptly. She staggered, confusion briefly replacing the blank expression. Monica caught her before she could tumble to the floor. Then Aubrey was coming for me, faster than a fucking shot. I managed to dodge the fist he aimed at me by a mere fraction. 

I plunged a hand into my pocket, drawing out the small container full of garlic. It took me a precious second to screw the lid off, but that second was well worth it when I tossed the stuff into the air. It rained down like smelly manna from heaven. Every vampire stopped what they were doing, coughing and spluttering. A few were so offended by the scent that they disappeared behind the curtain, unwilling to stay in proximity. That left Keats, Aubrey, and Jeanette on stage with Monica, Catherine and I. 

"Aubrey, cease," Keats' hissed as his companion rounded on me again, fangs bared. 

But Aubrey ignored him, charging at me with murder in his eyes. This time I was ready for him. I tugged my makeshift stakes from my hair, and it tumbled from the bun in a messy spill of curls. I had them into a guard position before he had time to blink and when he finally noticed them, it was too late. 

The first entered under the rib cage. Not high enough, unless I was willing to dig for his heart. I wasn't sure I had time to do more before one of the other two vampires jumped me. The second found a more satisfying mark, going in deep, probably puncturing a lung. It wouldn't kill him, but it'd hurt and keep him from running his damn mouth. 

Keats was shouting at us both. I was weighing the option of using one of the two-inch blades in my waistband to slit his throat. Again, it wouldn't kill him and a decapitation would be too lengthy and messy to be practical. It would weaken him though. 

But if I did this in front of a crowd of people, I could probably kiss my life goodbye. Nikolaos would turn the information over in a heartbeat. Huh. Pun intended? On the other hand, if I let him go, Aubrey would end my life much sooner. 

I was still puzzling over what to do when a soft hand snaked around my waist, coming to rest over my navel. I was tugged into the softness of a female vampire's body. Jeanette's sinful scent swirled the air around me, fugging my mind almost instantly. 

"Let him go," she murmured, so quietly that the song obliterated the words to all ears but mine. 

"He'll kill me." 

"Non, ma petit chou. I have a plan. Can you trust me?" 

Could I? Probably not. She was a vampire after all. But she was the only one in this whole damn joint who'd expressed any interest in helping me. Maybe it was a game to her. Exploit the Executioner. Maybe not. But how much worse off could I be if I decided to accept her help? If I was wrong, I was in no worse shape than I'd been when I walked in. 

"Yes," I breathed. 

"Good," she whispered. 

Then she pressed the edge of fangs into my throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally scrounged up enough time to continue this, hooray! I'm hoping to update a lot more regularly now that my work schedule has finally settled after all the craziness of quarantine. I obviously lifted some of the dialogue from Guilty Pleasures, but only what Keats was saying. Keats is an original character, though I don't think a pivotal one. I needed to get a vampire to take JC's place, since I don't think a female announcer would work as well in this situation.


	4. Chapter 4

What stupidity had I just allowed to dribble out of my mouth? Had she just rolled that answer out of me?

Of course I couldn't trust her. The best I could probably hope for was a mercy kill. It'd be less lingering than the methods of execution the state of Missouri employed for those who'd been proven to have broken the magical malfeasance laws. 

No pretty lethal injections for witches, vampires, and weres. It was beheading, hanging, or fire. Most often it was fire. The recipients were either strangled to death beforehand or left in a room to die of smoke let in through the vents as the air slowly superheated a la the brazen bull. Then the remains were tossed in a crematorium and the ashes scattered to make it impossible for the corpse to ever be animated. 

Plenty of groups were lobbying to get the practice abolished, but it was slow going. The raising of the Pope in 1950 had proved that fire was the only thing proof against the supernatural. The cabal of fanatical animators had taken turns raising the incredibly lifelike zombie with human sacrifice. An estimated two hundred and thirty people had died before the Vatican had caught on. It had caused mass defection from the church, and now figures of any note were strongly encouraged to consider cremation after death. 

It really wasn't any surprise animators had been excommunicated before I was ever born. Grandma Flores still had her pendant of Saint Cyprian and had given it to me just after I started showing signs of animating ability.

It was probably the only thing that she'd given me that I valued. The crippling anxiety about my own powers that had lasted until college? Not so much.

The warm slide of blood down my throat made me squirm. When had she bitten me? I hadn't felt it. Was she really that good? 

No. I'd had vampires try to drain me before, and this didn't feel the same. The points of her fangs scraped the skin but didn't slide through flesh. The angle at which she turned us made it look good, like that sort of theater kissing actors do for live performances. That was all it was, an act for the benefit of the audience and her fellow vampires. If I had to guess, the blood pooling in my collarbone and seeping into my blouse was hers, not mine. She must have bitten her own lip. 

Why was she doing this for me? It would be easier for her to bite. It gave vampires a measure of control over their victims if done right. So why not slide the Executioner into her back pocket for safekeeping? I couldn't even begin to guess at her motives. 

Jeanette's voice seemed to tickle my ear, speaking only to me, the brush of her phantom lips sending goosebumps popping along my arms. Her breath was warm in the illusion she gave me, which was enough to convince me it was an illusion. Vampires rarely retained body temperature for long. No circulation, no core temperature to heat the blood. Biology still couldn't explain why the blood always seemed to get where it needed to be and didn't pool when the vampire was still. It had been chalked up to magic and left at that.

"Slump in my arms, ma petit chou. Make it convincing." 

The order chafed against absolutely every instinct I had. I wasn't some fainting heroine in a bodice-ripper, helpless and scared. I sure as hell didn't want to play one for Aubrey's benefit. Bad for the rep to faint in front of the bad guys. But Aubrey clearly had a temper, and this had the potential to go sour very quickly. At some point, he'd go for Catherine again if I didn't cooperate. 

So I let my legs slide out from under me and, feeling a little ridiculous, rolled my eyes as far back into my head as I could get them so they showed white to the vampire and the watching crowd. Jeanette's arm tightened around my waist and she gathered me up onto her lap as we slid to the stage floor. There was something tender in her grasp. Something I had only ever associated with my mother. Even her scent had changed to something sweeter, like the scent of linen and wisteria that clung to the front of my mother's blouses when she'd come in from the garden. 

My hand bunched into the fabric of Jeanette's torn pinafore and I turned my face closer to hers, so the crowd wouldn't catch my lips moving. I didn't give a fuck if any of the vampires heard. 

"Stop the mind games, Davenay, or I swear to God I will end you." 

This indignity I'd find a way to live through. I'd been hurt before. Defeated before, if this could even be called a defeat. Crying in front of a crowd of vampires and humans? Not a chance. 

The scent faded and Jeanette finally pulled her head back so she could look at me properly. 

She was faintly luminous, shining with her power. Her eyes bled to blue flame as she looked down at me, her full lips parted and glossed with ruby droplets. Blood. Her own, yes, but it didn't matter to me. An instinctive wave of revulsion had my last meal shimmying up my throat as she delicately licked them clean, revealing a small, rapidly healing cut on her bottom lip. Her fangs were dainty and looked almost harmless when she gave me a faint smile. 

"Bloody kisses suit you, ma petit chou," she murmured. 

"I have a name," I hissed. "Use it." 

Instead, Jeanette used her grip on my waist to lift me princess style and hold so we were face-to-admittedly-soft chest for a few seconds. 

"Put me down," I hissed. 

She gave me another sharp, glittering smile before doing as I asked, setting me on my feet. I swayed and scowled when she had to steady me. Damn vampires. This was her fault, no doubt. 

She linked her arm with mine, twined our fingers together so we were touching from wrist to elbow and sashayed her way to center stage. She was elegant, all long legs and flashy beauty, commanding attention. I felt a bit like a wet napkin that had gotten stuck to her shoe. I'd spent my whole life being outshined by women like Jeanette Davenay and I didn't appreciate being framed as just a pair of girlfriends off for a coffee klatch.

Jeanette brought us to a stop in the center spotlight. If I squinted, I could make out the dozens of shifting bodies just beyond, read the confusion and fear on every face. There was...arousal too, on a few faces, to my complete and utter bemusement. But mostly? It was terror.

"We hope you enjoyed our little melodrama. It was very realistic, wasn't it?"

She smiled, lathering her power over the audience like a good scalp massage, easing every bunched muscle in the room. Then she seized a fistful of my shirt sleeve and tore it away with minimal effort. A protest lodged somewhere in my throat. I didn't have the slavish devotion to my clothes as some of my friends (Catherine came to mind) but I'd liked this blouse, goddamnit. It was one of the few Judith had bought me that I actually liked. She'd be pissed to learn it'd been destroyed. 

The scrap of scarlet fabric fell to the stage and stood out like a fresh wound against the dark wood. The long fingers of her free hand came up to caress my arm, just beneath the cross-shaped burn scar on my bicep. It was still an angry red and hadn't faded to the stark white older scars got. Then she folded back the torn fabric of her pinafore and undershirt to reveal a similar burn scar just beneath the twin puncture marks on her breast. Blood outlined the whiteness of the upraised cross. There had to be some religious symbolism there, but hell if I knew what it was. 

We matched, a perfect set. Jeanette pressed her cheek to mine and beamed out at the crowd. It took them a few moments more and then the applause started. In small spurts at first, and then the sound grew to a crescendo, punctuated with shouts and whistles. 

They thought I was a vampire and this was the big finale. 

Just fucking great. If this got back to Dolph, my ass was grass. Hard to maintain my professional credibility if St. Louis PD got the impression I was moonlighting as a stripper. 

Aubrey slunk into the shadows to remove the improvised stakes and Keats moved out into the crowd to gather the remaining money. I didn't release my breath until the deep blue curtain swished back into place and obscured us from view. 

Jeanette let out a sigh to echo mine, somehow managing to sound more put out that I was. Huh. I was usually the pissiest person in the room. I wasn't used to being one-upped. But then, I'd been surprised by quite a few things recently. Jeanette turned curtly on one heel and motioned me to follow. She didn't speak again until we were firmly nestled in the shadowy wings that led backstage. 

"I wish you hadn't done that, ma petite chou." 

"Anita," I ground out. "Or Blake. I don't care, but enough of your endearment crap. We're not friends, we're not lovers. We're nothing to each other, Davenay. Quit pretending you give a damn and I'll respect you a little more. Truth is truth no matter how unpleasant, and I can respect someone who tells it to me straight. I don't like liars." 

Jeanette reached for the hem of her pinafore and stripped it off in a smooth rolling motion. It left her in an almost sheer white undershirt, a pair of white lace panties and garter belt, the stockings, shoes, and...nothing else. No bra beneath the shirts and none of those little safety shorts that my sisters had worn under their skirts and dresses. She stood wearing next to nothing and looked unabashed, a little proud, even. 

And why not? She had the sort of body women had been killing themselves to achieve for a couple of decades now. Too much curve along the bust and hip lines to be considered heroin chic, but her waist was so dramatically tucked inward it almost beggared belief. I could count at least five ribs that stood out starkly against her pale skin, pretty much confirming my earlier suspicion she'd been starving when her maker had found her. Her stomach was almost concave, taut, and flat in the prefect magazine thinness. 

"French Revolution?" I guessed.

"Pardon?"

"You don't have much meat on your bones, Davenay. I'm guessing you were a peasant, and I can't get a lock on your age, so I'm not sure when. I'm just hazarding a guess." 

Ever the enigma, she only smiled and said nothing in response. Instead, she plucked a shirt from the rack, tossing it lightly to me. The white, ruffly shirt glided through the air like a wistful ghost and I shot out a hand to catch it. 

"Clean your neck and put that on, Anita." 

"If this is yours, I don't think it'll fit. I've got at least twenty pounds on you." 

"In the bustline alone, oui." 

"Oh fuck you." 

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. "Hm. An interesting proposition." 

Heat flushed into my face and I just knew I'd be scarlet soon. 

"That's not what I meant and you know it." 

She nodded absently. "It's not my shirt. It ought to at least cover you. If Nikolaos scents blood on you, we are all...what's the American term?" 

"In deep shit?" I guessed. 

"Exactement."

"Because I stabbed him or the fact he tried to bite me?" 

"Yes." 

"You know, I'm getting really tired of this cryptic bullshit, Davenay. If Nikky doesn't want me turning her people into pincushions she really ought to have been forthright with me. She has my balls in a vise, she doesn't really need to apply more pressure to make me squirm." 

A surprised laugh burbled from her lips, and the blue of her eyes seemed to slide into a richer hue. I looked away quickly. She had a killer smile. Or perhaps a killer's smile. Hard to tell with vampires. The sound stirred things in me. Not exactly desire but the promise of it, if she continued. Vampire wiles, or something more mundane? Goddamnit, why could I never tell with her? 

"I will never grow used to the easy way modern women spew profanities." 

"I don't spew profanities. I enunciate them like a fucking lady." 

Her chuckle was a decadent thing, like chocolate on the palate. "Just so. Will you put the shirt on, or shall I do it for you?" 

I began on my buttons without hesitation. The thin, soft fingers would no doubt stray places I wasn't comfortable with. It was difficult to do one-handed. I kept fumbling, probably looking like a nervous virgin on prom night. More so, since I couldn't meet her eyes directly for more than a second. Eventually, the blouse slid to the floor, leaving me in the plain beige bra beneath. I could feel her eyes on me, examining me critically as I struggled with the pearl buttons on the large shirt. One of Keats' or Robert's, probably. 

"So many scars, ma petit chou." 

Only a fraction of them were visible from the front. A couple of shallow stab wounds from a few near-miss encounters. The cross-shaped burn on my bicep, when a vampire's servant had thought it'd be funny to brand me. Another on my collarbone, where an evil vampire named Valentine had attempted to chew through bone, aiming to cripple my gun arm. Physical therapy had given me most of my mobility back. My mentor, Manny, couldn't claim the same. That attack had taken him out of the game for good. 

"All thanks to your kind," I muttered. 

The amusement drained away, leaving her beautiful face as cold and vacant as a porcelain doll's. 

"Quite judgemental coming from you, Anita. You call us monsters. How many kills do you have to your credit now, Executioner?"

"Official, or self-defense?" 

"Both." 

"As of last month it was one hundred twenty-three morgue stakings, six warrants of execution on serial murders or serial rapists, and four self-defense kills."

"All in the three years you've been a vampire hunter. I think you may be the most prolific serial killer of all time, Anita Blake. Bundy would be inspired." 

My fingers flexed at my waist, craving the feel of my Browning Hi-Power. 

"Do you have a fucking point?" I asked, shrugging into the overlarge peasant shirt. It was breezy and shapeless. It'd be easy to hide a weapon beneath it. 

"You don't like liars. I don't like hypocrites." 

If I'd had my Browning, I'd have shot her. Instead, I reached for one of the small blades. Maybe I'd be fast enough to cut her. Maybe not. 

"You _are_ monsters, Davenay. Until the last century or so every goddamn one of you killed when you rose as vampires. You enslave people with your gaze and your bite. I've seen more corpses than I can count with vampire bites, drained like damn juice boxes. And the really bad ones? They kill for pleasure. The cadre of vampires that traveled up from the Kansas City kiss slaughtered my entire wedding party. And the less said about what they did to my fiance, the better. So no, I'm not going to call you anything but what you are. You want to be treated like humans? _Act like it_." 

Her expression didn't flicker, as still and empty as a stone wall. When she spoke, her voice was equally flat. She disappeared further into the darkness and only became visible again when she stood beneath the muted orange light of an exit sign. She pushed the door open, letting the buttery yellow glow of a streetlight spill into the interior, outlining her perfect profile. 

"Nikolaos is waiting. We should depart." 

I sucked in a breath. Counted to three. Let it out slow, trying to quell the anger about to boil over and hurt someone. 

"About fucking time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do some extra worldbuilding for this one, so sorry if it contradicts established canon. That's probably going to happen a lot. Hamilton's work is supposed to be without the masquerade, with people knowing about vampires for all time. Yet the books often act as if this is a True Blood scenario where vampires have only recently come out and no one knows much about them. So yeah, making up the worldbuilding details as I go. :) 
> 
> Also, in the original, Anita supposedly has only fourteen kills and is still somehow supposed to be the vampire boogeyman? I can't buy that in a world that doesn't have the masquerade. There had to have been Van Helsing types all over the place. So I've given her a much higher kill count to justify the nickname. The action is slow going, but it was like that in Guilty Pleasures too. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this. :) Thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

Muggy summer air pressed down on us almost instantly, banishing the comfort of Iniquity's air-conditioned interior. The humidity was so thick and sticky that it actually began to form a film on my skin. Wasn't the heat supposed to dial down at some point after dark? It seemed to have gotten hotter in the hour or so we'd been inside the club. There wasn't even a faint breeze coming off the river to ease any of the oppressive heat. I'd be praying for rain soon if this didn't let up. 

I should be used to this, coming from a little town in Bumfuck Nowhere, Missouri. Stillwater was a town of less than a thousand people, surrounded on two sides by the woods, and blocked in by the reservoir on the third. There was only one road in and out of town. I'd spent many a summer wading into the shallows to catch crawfish, or floating on my back alone, avoiding home until the clench of my belly had been too painful to ignore any longer. By that time Judith, Andria, Dad, and Josh would have eaten supper. Judith would leave me a plate of leftovers. It had been the only way to maintain the fragile peace back then. 

If not at the reservoir, then I could be found in the cemetery that cuddled up next to the small parish church. The place was shabby, barely bigger than an old schoolhouse. Aside from a handful of faithful parishioners, most people either worshiped at the Baptist Church across town or at the altar of NASCAR at home. Sacramental beer included, of course. 

I traced my mother's name from the gravestone in many a notebook, stuffing them away, trying to immortalize her. Julieta Marie Blake. I wasn't going to let Judith supplant her. I sure as hell wasn't going to call her mom.

"You look pensive, ma petit chou." 

Jeanette's voice drags me out of my sullen contemplation of miserable weather and an even worse childhood. 

"Why shouldn't I be? Nikolaos can end me with minimal effort. I deserve to feel a little anxious." 

She studies me as we pass beneath a streetlamp. She was silent for long enough that the drone of cicadas filled the gap in the stilted conversation. 

"It's not fear I see in your face, Anita. It's sorrow. What causes you such grief?" 

"That outfit," I said, scanning her from her Mary Janes to the crown of her head. "It's tragic." 

Sometime between talking to me in the wings of Iniquity and the jaunt to the door she'd slipped on a thigh-length navy dress with a scooped neck and sailor collar that veed a little further down than was strictly necessary. Cute red ties hung in the valley of her breasts, drawing attention to them intentionally. Little brass buttons decorated the waist, there only for show. 

I was lying, of course. The look suited her and incidentally went with the stockings she still wore. So what if she looked like a Halloween pin-up? It wasn't really my place to judge, so long as she didn't try to wrestle me into one. But I wanted her to lay off the probing questions.

Jeanette ignored the jibe. She could probably hear the lie. Some therians could sniff out lies, and vampires could hear it in the acceleration of the heart, see it in the fluctuation of pupil size. Best not to lie to a vampire if you didn't have to. 

"As I said before the show, we ought to work together. You know that Nikolaos plans to kill you when the murders are solved, non?" 

"I figured, yeah. Big accolades if she can bring down the Executioner. It begs the question why she hasn't turned the information over already. She wouldn't even have to heave her undead ass out of a chair. Just send the cops to my door." 

"Because she suspects there is a traitor among us. The vampires being targeted are not easy prey. Every one of them is a Master." 

"Someone's jockeying for power. It's a coup. She wants the mole found and killed unofficially. And she wants her hands clean when the dawn comes." 

"Précisément."

"And you want to help me why?" 

"I am a Master, Mademoiselle Blake. One of only five left. I do not wish to be next." 

I paused mid-step, just outside another pool of lamplight, and studied her. She was at least a few steps ahead of me, and when she paused just beneath it and half-turned back to me, it looked like a pose on a runway. The skirt swished back into place around her legs. 

Maybe I was showing just how green I was by thinking it but she didn't _look_ like a Master vampire. She looked like a Barbie doll come to life. That didn't ultimately matter when she was facing purely human foes. I could deadlift my own body weight (around a hundred and thirty pounds at this point.) As a vampire, Jeanette would be able to lift at least twice that. Maybe a little less, given how scrawny she'd been in life. But still, it'd be an impressive number. Therians could lift three times what I could. She wouldn't need any of that strength to end me if she used vampire speed. One good tear in an artery and I was done for. 

But...there was something about her. Something utterly guileless in her fine-boned face. Being a Master was innate to a vampire and often just the luck of the draw. Some could grow into the potential within years of being made. Others might reach a thousand or more without ever reaching Master status. 

I studied her hard, trying to look past the svelte body and really judge her with my animating ability. The only thing I could pick up on was a general sense of age, which told me practically nothing. I knew she was at least seventy, possibly more. In 1946 Louis Réard had worked with Belle Morte's line shortly after World War Two to produce the first bikini and air it on live television. Jeanette and a 19-year-old nude dancer from the Casino de Paris named Micheline Bernardini had debuted the look, causing massive scandal amongst the puritanical American masses. At that point, vampires were only just gaining the right not to be hunted down or shot on sight. The perceived "degeneracy" of Belle's line hadn't helped much.

I'd also heard Jeanette's name mentioned in a gender studies course, during a brief overview of the French Suffragette Movement, which put her at older even than that. I just couldn't get a lock on her age, which pissed me the hell off. 

Jeanette shivered delicately, rubbing at the skin of her arms like she'd been caught in a sudden, frigid gale. 

"Your power is impressive, Mademoiselle Blake, but could you perhaps not touch me with it?" 

It was tempting to hold the power over her, making her squirm with discomfort. If I did that, though, I could lose a potential ally, so I reluctantly withdrew the probe. It wasn't as though it was doing me any good anyway.

We fell into step again, walking down the shady sidewalk past most of the vampire-run businesses. If I had to hazard a guess we'd be heading toward the Burgess-Price Building not far off of the Riverfront. It was the government-issued building for all vamp-centered politics in St. Louis. Master of the City was an elected office, instead of the feudal system the vamps had used before becoming naturalized citizens. That didn't mean some of the favorites weren't still voted in every time. Belle Morte had been reigning Master of New York for decades now. There was talk of imposing term limits in future.

I cleared my throat, trying to fill the sudden, awkward silence that had fallen between us. The headlights of a passing cop car hesitated for a second when they swept over us, and then the officer decided to keep going. Good choice.

"And you want me to...what? Be your big, bad bodyguard?" 

She fluttered those thick lashes in an utterly coquettish fashion and toyed with the collar of the dress, tugging it to reveal the tip of that burn. It showed a nice line of cleavage. 

"I'm sure there's some way I could... _show my appreciation._ "

I snorted. "Someone's watched too many prornos." 

She gave a full-bellied laugh, and the sound was sincere for the first time since I'd met her. It rang into the night, pealing and so full of joy that it actually made me want to smile. 

"I like you, Anita Blake. I want you to survive this ordeal." 

"So we can....what? Become best pals? I don't see that happening."

"I want to establish a working relationship with you, Mademoiselle Blake. I am fairly well placed in Nikolaos' inner circle. I'm sure I could share a few...insights with your fellows in the Regional Preternatural Investigation Taskforce." 

I blinked. "Are you saying that you'll be _my_ snitch if I'm _your_ bitch?"

Another pealing laugh. For an instant I wanted to snatch the sound from the air and hold it, just to see what it would feel like. I'd had more than my share of misery in my life. 

"We'll discuss it at length another time. For now, we must bring the matter to a close. We'll be within range soon. She's waiting." 

That sobered me right up. 

We spent the rest of the journey in hot, sticky silence. By the time we reached the Burgess-Price Building, a line of sweat had dewed above my lip, on my brow, and at the small of my back. Maybe it was good that the mostly ineffectual Browning had been lost during the fight at Iniquity. My hands were so slippery with sweat I wasn't sure I could have held it steady.

The Burgess-Price Building had probably been red brick once, but time and the elements had worn it down to a burnt salmon color. The white trim on the sills, window frames, and aedicules lent to the impression we were walking into a frosted confectionary, rather than a vampire's lair. The building was almost six stories, built taller than it was wide. Wrought-iron lamp posts flanked the walkway and a short flight of steps led up to a pair of double doors. The Missouri State Seal buddied up next to the unofficial seal for vampire rights. A cheesy slogan under both read; 

_Fangs so much for visiting us!_

I almost groaned. I refused to die in this building. I would not allow my epitaph to be that lackluster.

Jeanette reached the door before I could and held it open for me, giving me a faint smile and an almost courtly bow. 

"After you." 

"And they say chivalry is dead," I drawled and stepped inside. 

I didn't like having her at my back, but it beat the hell out of having Aubrey there. Small mercies, I guess.

The interior of the building was blessedly cool and I could finally drag in a decent breath. The room beyond the doors was fairly colorless. It didn't appear as if the painters had done more than apply a coat or two of primer to the drywall. It looked woefully unfinished, somehow. The floors were a gray tile mosaic, the chairs and sofa pushed into one corner were solid black. Even the enormous reception desk was white marble shot through with veins of gray. 

"Bet the red really pops when they bleed out in here," I muttered. 

Jeanette frowned at me but didn't say anything as we crossed over to the elevators. I balked a few feet away. 

"The stairs." 

"Pardon?" 

"I'm not taking an elevator. We're taking the stairs." 

Jeanette raised one perfect brow. "Why?" 

Because Grandma Flores had once locked me in a darkened broom closet as a bit of "tough love" when I'd been twelve and her animating lessons had failed to produce proper results. There's been a leak in one of her bottles, so the place smelled like mildew, and I swore I could hear a mouse scrabbling inside the walls. I'd improved exponentially after that, just so I could get the hell away from her. 

Out loud I said, "A little cardio never hurt anyone."

Jeanette didn't call me on the lie. She let her hand fall away from the call button with a shrug. 

"If you wish."

We took the stairs up to the second floor. She walked a little ahead of me, giving me more glimpses of the garter belt and the curves of her thighs. I wasn't sure if she was doing this on purpose or not. 

We emerged on a second-floor landing and a quick glance down the hall revealed the same color scheme as the floor below. There were at least paintings and photographs hanging on the walls to break up some of the monotony. The office we wanted was at the end of the hall. It was the largest on the floor, or so Jeanette told me on the way up the stairs. Nothing but the best for the Master of the City. 

The door was transparent glass as if to say, "Look inside. We're totally harmless!" 

The shapes huddled inside were anything but, if my senses didn't deceive me. There were three, and one of them had the charged aura of a Master Vampire. Not Aubrey, who'd draped himself in a wingback leather chair by the window. It let in enough moonlight to outline the arrogant planes of his face. Nor was it the handsome Hispanic man who leaned into the seam of the wall, looking like he wanted to disappear into the shadows. 

He looked human, though his energy hinted at something more. He looked out of place in a white T-shirt and a pair of cutoff jeans. His gaze settled on me for a fraction of a second, studying me before they dropped again. A severe frown creased his face. Glad to know someone was as unhappy about this as I was. 

The charged aura was coming from the woman sitting behind the desk. She looked precisely the way all the old stories and vampsploitation films painted vampires. Her long, dark hair fell around her shoulders in a long, sleek line and blended almost seamlessly with the bodice of her dress. The dress itself was long-sleeved, ruffled, and probably required a corset to wear. I couldn't see the skirt beneath the desk, but I was willing to bet it had a bustle. Her face was a pale oval, her lips done up in scarlet, the way Jeanette's were. She didn't pull it off as well. 

We stepped inside and all eyes fixed on me.

"Jeanette, be a dear and close the door," the woman purred. Vampire wiles made the sound richer though, again, not as lovely as Jeanette's. 

The door clicked behind us and I was suddenly standing in the midst of monsters. Not a single soul in this room was human save me. I imagined this was what Daniel must have felt like in the lion's den. 

"Afraid, Executioner?" Aubrey jeered. 

"I'm just dandy, Aubrey. How about you? Can you wiggle your fingers through the holes I dug in you?"

Aubrey bared his fangs at me in a silent snarl. I stared back, silent and impassive. I'd seen better.

"Aubrey, do not taunt our guest," the woman chided. 

I turned my senses toward her. Waited. The temperature in the room dropped a degree and a half.

"So," I said, glancing off to the side of her face. There was a bookshelf to her right. Someone apparently liked the works of John Locke. "Where's Nikolaos?" 

She frowned. "I am Nikolaos, girl." 

"No, you're not. See, I know you all might be a bit behind the times and all, but here in America, we have these things called Sunshine Laws. They're regulations promoting openness and transparency in how the government works. And since Nikky holds a public office, I could and did find some biographical data on her. She's over a thousand. I'd clock you at say...four hundred, give or take a decade."

The man in the corner snorted a laugh. He stuffed his knuckles into his mouth to stifle it almost the second it escaped but was still smiling when I glanced in his direction. 

"You be quiet, rat!" Imposter-Nikky snapped. "You are only here on a matter of formality because your master is elsewhere this night!" 

"He has a name," I said coolly. "It's a little rude not to use it."

I turned to him, tried to summon a smile but it just wasn't coming tonight. I'd wasted my limited store much earlier in the week. Fresh out of smiles but having a special on scowls. Wasn't that just my life?

"I'm Anita." 

"Rafael," he said, and he did smile. It was what Ronnie would have called a panty-dropper. I wished I was able to appreciate it. 

"Silence!" Imposter-Nikki hissed. She speared Jeanette with a glare. "You told her!" 

"I did not, Theresa. I swear it."

"She didn't have to tell me anything," I said. "I have an affinity with the dead. I'm in the top five most powerful animators in the United States. Top ten worldwide. So I'd really appreciate it if we could cut the crap and discuss the murders. Take me to Nikolaos. Now."

I didn't see Aubrey leave his chair, just caught the pale blur of his shape moving toward me. He was just suddenly there. I didn't have a weapon and I didn't have time to block him. Jeanette tried. Goddamn but she tried. Aubrey's fists hit her too, knocking her back into a coat stand by the door. Fortunate for her it was metal, not wood.

Not so fortunate for me, because it left me facing Aubrey alone. His fist hit me in the sternum, taking me off of my feet. I swore I felt a crunch. There wasn't much time to ponder it though. I went sailing through the door, and what felt like a million glass shards shredded me as I passed through. 

Theresa was screaming obscenities at Aubrey. I only had a moment to hear the more colorful ones before my head impacted the drywall. I sank in a bit, coughing when the dust billowed around my head. Black spots danced a reel before my eyes and then the pain tried to swallow me whole. My vision pulsed and then...nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I did some more worldbuilding. I hope everyone likes it. I'm making some alterations to canon. Basically, in this version, I'll end up explaining that vampires have always been a known quantity but it wasn't until about the 20th century they tried to integrate with humans. This way I think I can balance having them be a little mysterious and the prejudices still there, but not have everyone looking like idiots for not knowing what should be basic stuff. 
> 
> Nowhere in text could I find her hometown (she claims to be a country girl in Hit List I believe.) Her father and mother are also never named, and the former is pretty perplexing since we hear about her mommy angst every book. So I've named the parents Julieta and Leon Blake. I named her unnamed college fiance Curtis Davis. 
> 
> Also, I have changed Anita's weight because there's no freaking way her proportions are possible. She's supposed to have a huge booty, a rack so big she can't fold her arms over them (which as many sporkers say should be impossible, unless she has tiny T-Rex arms) and she's supposed to be all lean muscle. Muscle weighs more than fat and combined with the other two factors, she should be twenty to thirty pounds heavier than she is in canon. (One hundred and ten? Subtract the boobs and she'd be ninety-five pounds or therabouts. No. Just no.) I'm thinking her proportions would be more Nicki Minaj than Mila Kunis 
> 
> Also, I will be eventually putting in some OCs that are also powerful necromantic ladies. Because I get so sick of Anita being the only one who knows jack about her profession and/or being the supreme mary sue. It helps to balance if there are others who share the same power level. Goes a long way in making her seem less like a special snowflake. 
> 
> Anywho, that got a bit rambly and spiteful, so sorry about that. Anyway, I hope you like it.


	6. Chapter 6

Prying my eyes open took real effort. Even just that small movement pulled at muscles and sent small ripples of agony through the bones of my face. A piteous moan formed in my chest, but I didn't give voice to it, afraid opening my mouth would result in yet more pain. Nausea rose to gag me, the taste of bile resting on my tongue. It couldn't be contained for long. 

I turned my head and heaved the half-digested remnants of my shrimp scampi all over the floor. I retched a few times after, curling onto my side, grateful something soft cradled my neck and shoulders. There wasn't much left to expel. My body kept trying anyway, and each time I heaved, the motion jarred something in my chest. Sharp pains twisted around my sternum, prompting yet more nausea.

My head pounded like someone was taking a jackhammer to the back of my skull. I wouldn't have been surprised if my gray matter leaked out a fissure and onto the floor. A sound escaped me. I wasn't sure if I meant to scream or sob.

I was hurt. Hurt really, really bad. I could barely focus my eyes, and was at least grateful the illumination was dim...wherever we were.

"We ought to have called emergency services," Jeanette's snapped, voice just above me. She sounded irate. "She could have suffered spinal injuries. We were meant to bring her to Nikolaos whole. Aubrey could have paralyzed her." 

Ah. So the soft surface I was laying on must be Jeanette's lap. 

"It's a moot point now, isn't it? Aubrey is being punished for his part in this. You'd best hope she doesn't find out what you've done, or you'll be in a coffin right next to his." 

"Nique ta mère, Theressa."

I tried to laugh, coughed instead, and tasted blood. 

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" I wheezed. 

Jeanette shifted and then soft hands cupped either side of my face. The cool temperature felt incredible. I leaned my head into her right palm, not caring at that point how pathetic it must look. I just wanted the pain to stop. Even facing Valentine I hadn't been hurt this badly. Though the head wound hurt the most, there was still the grind of bone in my chest, the throbbing cuts that crisscrossed the rest of my body. It seemed someone had removed my borrowed shirt. I'd instead been mummified, most of my arms and torso wrapped in sterile white bandages. 

Jeanette's lips very briefly skimmed my temple, the touch so light that I wondered if I imagined it. Then she maneuvered me into a half-sitting position, cradling my head in the hollow of her throat. Her scent was thicker there. It was almost comforting in a way, to be hidden behind the fall of her hair, pressed tight to her front. She murmured to me in French. I didn't catch most of it. I'd flunked out of French in high school and I hadn't fared much better in Spanish. I couldn't seem to cudgel my brain into accepting the new knowledge. The only thing that seemed to have stuck was the curse words.

At least things were beginning to hurt less. After a few minutes, I was able to push away from her grasp and crawl from her lap. The floor beneath us was smooth white rock. Limestone, maybe? I wasn't a geologist, but that seemed likely. I was guessing this was some sort of cave network. Missouri didn't boast anything quite as picturesque as the marble caves in Chile. 

I wasn't able to go far. Even if I'd been capable of making a break for it, Theresa was there, hovering by the door. I'd been right about the bustle. It filled at least half of the room's narrow opening. She was scowling down at us, irked for some unfathomable reason. I didn't see where she had any room to bitch. _I'd_ been the one flung through both a door and a wall. 

"Where are we? What's going on?" I asked, grateful that my legs didn't wobble when I tried to stand. 

My pulse still beat a painful tattoo against the inside of my skull but the pain in my chest had receded and the cuts only throbbed dully. The room still twirled lazily in my vision and the dizziness threatened to drag me sideways to the floor. I probably had a concussion but at least I hadn't suffered a spinal injury. I shuddered to think just how easily Aubrey could have crippled me. 

Jeanette was at my side in the blink of an eye, steadying me with a gentle hand on my elbow. I appreciated the fact she hadn't tried to steer me into another princess carry. If Nikolaos was anywhere in the vicinity, the last thing I wanted was to look like easy prey. 

"You're in the daytime resting place of the Saint Louis Kiss," Theressa informed me. "Most of the blood-oathed vampires call this home." 

Good to know. Also not a piece of information Theressa should be handing out like free candy. Either she was stupid or she was so confident in Nikolaos' ability to protect her that the thought of a rogue vampire hunter didn't seem like much of a threat. I was hoping for the former but betting on the latter. 

"I thought all vampires in a city were blood-oathed," I said, stalling for time. The dizziness was also beginning to fade. The sour taste of vomit lingered in my mouth, but the nausea was all but gone. 

"Once upon a time," she said with a shrug. "But no more. Your quaint American notions of freedom demand some measure of choice in the matter. Our figures estimate only around a quarter of Saint Louis' vampires are blood-oathed." 

She made it sound like a bad thing. I was frankly stunned that there were so many independent actors in the undead community. It meant that the popular notion of Average Joe Vampire was actually possible. Who’d a thunk it?

I took an experimental step forward, pleased when I didn't sway. I was beginning to feel more like myself again. 

"I shouldn't be recovering this quickly," I said slowly. "What's going on?" 

Theresa let out a sharp laugh. It was just shy of being a cackle of glee. The hair on the back of my neck tried to squirm away. Anything that made Theresa this happy would almost certainly make my day worse. 

"Oh do tell her, Jeanette. I want to see if she can take you apart with her bare hands." 

I turned toward Jeanette, jerking my arm from her grasp. Her hands were suddenly frigid, the feeling of her dead flesh no longer the comfort it had been a few minutes ago. Suspicion crowded my mind, and a little voice in the back of my head began a tirade against me. It had been stupid to trust her, to think for an instant that she had any level of care beyond what she could get out of our partnership. 

"What did you do?" my voice was a quiet, deadly whisper.

It wasn't until a few seconds later that I realized I'd been making direct eye contact, furious and wanting her to know exactly how much this situation pissed me off. Her face was still breathtaking, but her eyes didn't snare me. I wasn't undone by it, as I should have been.

Her face betrayed nothing and her tone was almost inflectionless when she spoke.

"The only thing that I could have, Anita. I feared you'd suffer brain damage and Aubrey would not take you to the hospital."

"What did you do?" I asked again, louder this time. My hands curled into fists at my side. 

Jeanette didn't answer, so Theresa stepped in, voice lilting and gleeful. 

"She has given you the first mark. Jeanette has taken the first step to make you her human servant." 

I rounded on her fully and I actually shouted the next question. 

"You bit me?" 

I hadn't felt it, but it could have easily been lost in the myriad of other injuries I'd sustained. But if she'd done that, shouldn't her gaze be more dangerous to me, not less?

"Non, ma petit chou. That is not how it is done." 

She finally had the good grace to drop her gaze. Too little too late. I was fucking pissed. Theresa's suggestion sounded excellent. Now if only I had the strength to do it.

"Then what the fuck did you do?"

She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, the picture of contrition. I didn't buy a second of it. 

"It's a psychic transfer of sorts. I have taken the pain and given you a measure of my abilities. Your bones should mend fully by dawn. The cuts will heal faster still. My main concerns were possible spinal fractures and possible bleeding on the brain. It would have killed you or left you permanently altered. Nikolaos cannot allow such a thing." 

Fear shivered down every vertebrae and clenched my heart in a vise. I'd gathered enough information during the course of my job to guess what had happened. A subdural hematoma. Aubrey had really meant to kill me. 

It didn't take long for anger to thaw some of the fear. "You've made me your thrall?" 

"Of course not, girl," Theresa said dismissively. "Don't believe every propaganda piece you read. Servants have more independence when tied to a Master, not less." 

"I don't understand." 

My head was beginning to ache, and it had nothing to do with the ever-fading aftereffects of the concussion. It seemed like this night was dragging on for an eternity. Could it really have been only a few hours since I'd stepped through the door of Iniquity? 

"You are now immune to my gaze, my voice, and my will. I cannot easily deceive you. If you took the second mark, you would be immune to the wiles of others as well." 

Jeanette sounded almost hopeful as if she really thought I'd agree to that Faustian bargain. 

"Not a fucking chance. I'm am so fucking done with this bullshit. If someone doesn't take me to Nikolaos in the next five minutes someone's going to die."

I wasn't sure how I'd do it, but I'd figure out a way. I hadn't earned the nickname the Executioner by slacking. I'd been known to get damn creative before. I could do it again. 

Neither Theressa nor Jeanette looked overly concerned by the threat. Looked like I was going to have to work harder. 

Finally, Theresa rolled one shoulder in an elegant shrug. She flipped the long sheet of her hair over one shoulder in a disdainful gesture and turned on one heel, striding out the door. The bustle followed her out the door a second later. The tap-tap of her heels receded rapidly and, after a moment's hesitation, I followed. 

The corridor outside our room was made up entirely of the same white limestone. The walls were incredibly smooth and the lighting too uniform for this to be a naturally occurring cave network. This was man-made...or perhaps vampire made. Whatever it was, it was probably illegal. If the plans for this place had been filed with the city I'd fry up my angelfish and eat him with tartar sauce. Something this large had to seriously upset the structural integrity of whatever lay above it. I just couldn't see it being allowed by any sane zoning committee. 

I kept expecting the clawing terror to kick in. This place was entirely encased in stone, buried deep underground. It should have been scaring the shit out of me. Instead, I felt strangely calm. The corridors were fairly wide and well-lit. LED light strips diffused blue-white light over our path. Maybe that helped. Or maybe this had something to do with Jeanette, taking the panic and loaning me calm? God, I just didn't know. 

My gratitude warred with an intense sense of violation. She'd been trying to save my life, even if it was only to deliver me to her master. On the other hand, she had to know that I would rather have died than be her slave. I didn't care what Theresa said. The mark gave Jeanette some sort of claim to me. I didn't like the thought of being owned, even if she seemed less objectionable than most. 

The corridors seemed endless. I swore that Theresa was leading us in circles to fuck with my sense of direction. Maybe she thought that I'd be unable to navigate my way to Nikolaos' lair if she muddled the path there. By the time we reached the large, carved oak door I was sweating again, blisters were forming on both of my heels, and I was exhausted. Whatever Jeanette had done to heal me was sapping my energy fast. I needed to eat or sleep sometime in the next few hours or I'd end up dropping wherever I stood. 

The door itself was round, with a brass knocker. It reminded me oddly of a hobbit hole. Any other night it might have made me laugh. Tonight I was fresh out of humor, so contented myself with a brief half-smile, then resumed scheduled programming in the form of a disgruntled frown.

Theresa yanked the door open and glided inside, leaving the vague scent of roses behind her. We followed her through, Jeanette taking me briefly by the elbow to guide me over the stone lip of the entrance. I yanked my arm free on reflex, glaring at her for a moment before I turned my attention to my surroundings. 

The room was made of still more white limestone, though someone had done their best to banish the cave atmosphere. A fireplace had been carved into one wall, though it was currently unlit. Completely unnecessary support beams had been placed on the ceiling, to give the room a more rustic air. More strip lighting, a pale yellow this time, ran along equally unnecessary baseboards, filling the room with enough light for a human to navigate. I imagined it was very bright to a vampire. 

A massive blue and white striped area rug had been set up at the center of the room. On top of it, I swear to God, was a wrought iron table, with matching chairs and a pewter tea set resting on top. The table currently had two occupants. One was a tall black man, who'd grown just a little paler since his turning. Pallor Mortis didn't affect those with darker complexions to the same degree, thus he probably looked a lot like he had in life. 

The other occupant was a little girl. Probably no more than thirteen or so, and so she hadn't developed much. She matched the room, wearing a yellow dress patterned with daffodils. Her white-blonde hair was long, even pulled back, reaching a little past her mid-back. She'd tied it up in a big poofy bow with a ribbon that matched the dress. It was a tea dress, I was fairly sure. I only knew the style because Catherine had been considering stuffing all her bridesmaids into polka-dotted monstrosities of the same style. I was glad it had ultimately been vetoed. 

Her eyes were blue-gray, like an overcast sky. I looked away the second she turned them on me. I wasn't sure if what Jeanette had told me was strictly true. Maybe the effect of vampire gaze was lessened and maybe it wasn't. I wasn't going to take my chances. 

Nikolaos laughed when I refused to look her in the eye. The sound was like tinkling bells. It also exposed one of her dainty fangs. Blood stained one side of her lip. I just bet the teacups were full of blood. Gag.

It was tricky to know where to look. Theresa had come to hover behind her, and a few human (or what appeared to be human) guards came to flank her. There were other vampires in the room, all lounging against the walls. I was glad to see Aubrey wasn't one of them. I settled on looking at the poofy yellow bow.

"Savvy," she purred. "You'd be surprised how many humans can't help themselves." 

"Well, there are idiots in every species."

She laughed again, more pealing bells. The sound was carefree, almost babyish, designed to evoke a smile. It was also transparently false if you knew who she was and how long she'd been playing this game. One didn't live to a thousand in vampire society if they were as innocent as Nikolaos was pretending to be. 

"I'd heard you were witty, Executioner." 

"Yeah, I'm a regular old Bob Saget. Do you mind if we cut the bullshit, Nikky, and tell me what it will take to get you off my back?" 

Her smile shrank and the dainty fang disappeared. She didn't quite scowl at me, but some of the faux cheer bled out of her face. 

"It is Nikolaos to you, girl. Do not think I am to be trifled with. The vampires you've faced? Pitiful rubes. You will not fare so well against me." 

"I'm not afraid of you," I said, and I really did mean it. 

Age really did mean something, as far as vampire power went. But anything could be killed, and I was very, very good at killing. Where there's a will, there's a way to end a bitch. 

The smile returned, a little chillier, still darkly amused. Both fangs showed this time. Anticipation glittered in her pale eyes. 

"Oh, but you will be, dear Executioner. If I wish it, I can drown you in nightmares. I am true heir to M'Lady, she who made me. I am the mora. A night-rider. Do you know what that means?"

Swallowing became a little more difficult. I'd gotten my major in preternatural biology, with the intent of going into biochemistry or microbiology from there. It hadn't worked out that way. I'd taken a gap year after Curtis' death and eventually finished the degree online. When I'd still been attending the University of Missouri-St. Louis, I'd traded a couple of different minors. One of them had covered mythology, or so far as one can have that when strange things always climbed out of the woodwork every few centuries. 

Nikolaos was a night hag, a being capable of invading dreams, inflicting paralysis and unimaginable terror on a being awake or asleep. A careless glance would allow her to torment me endlessly. 

"Shall I give you a taste, Executioner?" she asked and licked her lips. She looked almost perversely hopeful, like the thought of reducing me to a screaming, flailing pile was getting her off. It was just...wrong, contrasted with that tiny body. 

"Do you want me to help solve the murders or not?" I asked quietly. "None of the preamble was necessary. Tell me what I need to know." 

And just like that, the hint of her true nature evaporated and the facade of angelic little girl slid back into place. I bet she'd wrapped every politician in the city around her tiny, ivory fingers. A winning smile, a chirpy voice, and the appearance of eternal youth would get her far. All she had to do was act like someone's favorite niece or granddaughter. People didn't like saying no to kids. 

"Your police are aware of only four murders. We have reason to believe the number is ten." 

"You believe," I said, latching onto the operative word. "But you don't _know_. The bodies haven't turned up yet. You're not sure if this is the work of the killer or someone who's just taking advantage of the situation."

Nikolaos studied me like she was really seeing me for the first time. 

"You're quick. You gathered all that from just the phrasing?" 

I bristled at her tone. "Yeah. You don't have to sound so surprised." 

"Vampire hunters are bigots who have been given license to kill. Some do it for money, others for glory. But all of you tend to ignore the fact that we are much like you. How many have you staked in morgues while they were aware and begging for their lives?" 

"One." 

It'd been my first as a vampire hunter and done with Manny's supervision. I'd gone home shaking and hadn't been able to fall asleep until I'd run myself to exhaustion on the treadmill in my apartment complex's gym. I had never admitted out loud how much it had shaken me, but I'd never signed up to do it again. Leave that to Manny. I liked my vampires dead for the day. 

Surprise flickered across her face. Some muscle that had been tensed in her jaw relaxed a fraction. Finally, she pursed her lips. 

"If you wish to have the evidence of your crimes destroyed, you will find and return the missing members of my Kiss." 

So we were getting back to business then. 

"And if they're dead?" 

"You will report the deaths to me and you will find and end their murderer." 

I didn't really think that the vampire killer deserved to be axed. Jailed, certainly, but the idea of killing off a human for hunting the monsters didn't sit well with me. Then again, I was assuming the culprit was human. You know what they say about assuming...

Before I could compose an answer to Nikolaos' edict, my phone began to vibrate in my pants pocket. Radiohead's _Creep_ rang into the interior of the room. I glanced down at my pocket once, then back to Nikolaos, asking the question without words.

"Answer, Executioner. But put the call on speakerphone."

I fished the phone out of my pocket, hit the little green button, then tapped the speakerphone button.

"Blake," I said tersely. 

"Sorry to interrupt your night, Blake. Are you at work? I need to send a car to your location." 

Unease made my stomach roll. How much more bad news could be packed into my night?

"No, I'm not. I had the night off. What's up?"

"Dolph wants you with us tonight. We're at Bellefontaine Cemetery. How soon can you be here?"

"Soon. What's going on?" 

"We've got another body."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I omitted the scene where the wererats tried to intimidate Anita. It never really made much sense to me in canon. They were holding Catherine's life in the balance, so Nikolaos didn't really need to frighten Anita. She's already made the moral decision to work with the vampires in order to save her friend's life. 
> 
> I've added a maker for Nikolaos since it was never explicitly stated that I saw in the text and never mentioned in her wiki article. I think Moroven makes sense for her. 
> 
> And I wanted to make Anita somewhat more moral of a person for not, you know, killing vampires who were begging for their lives. Especially since the three-strike laws were a thing in canon. I don't think that makes much sense if vampires are citizens, but the laws regarding vampires and therianthropes are never very consistent, changing from book to book to be whatever is convenient for the author. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and putting up with my rambly notes about changes to canon.


	7. Chapter 7

It took at least half an hour to reach the end of the cave system. I really wasn't sure if the underground tunnels were that extensive or I was being given the runaround once again. It was difficult to judge time or distance, as a satiny blindfold had been secured firmly over my eyes. I had only agreed to it on the condition that Jeanette be the one to lead me out. I didn't trust Theresa. Nikky certainly wouldn't deign to do it herself. I didn't know any of the other vampires well enough to feel comfortable being at a disadvantage around them. 

At least I knew Jeanette had a vested interest in keeping me alive now that I bore one of her marks. The flirtation might be a tactic to manipulate me or throw me off my game, though I was getting the bad feeling it might be genuine. Either way, I had to throw my lot in with hers. 

For now. 

So here I was, being led around by the compelling Master Vampire yet again. She held my wrists in one hand, not putting much effort into restraining me. I still couldn't break her grip. I was trapped, blind, and helpless. Fear kept flexing cold fingers around my throat, trying to choke off my air. Everything was piling onto me at once. I'd almost died. I was still trapped under who knew how many layers of heavy rock, hounded by vampires who wanted to kill me.

"Relax, ma petit chou," Jeanette whispered very near my ear. "And stop struggling. It is...exciting to a vampire. You already strain my limited self-control."

"What, you haven't sucked the life from some poor bastard tonight?" I quipped. Better angry than scared. 

"No. The only vampires in Nikolaos' Kiss who have fed this night did so on stage. She commanded it." 

Bewilderment ground the panicked churning of my mind to a momentary stop. I did stop thrashing, too puzzled to fight her, and try to pick apart the logic at the same time. I'd never heard of a restriction like that. Just the opposite. It had been common practice for Masters to let their underlings commit wholesale slaughter whenever human settlements pissed them off. Of course, we hadn't seen any mass feedings since the first attempts at integration in 1905. Running on that platform had almost lost Roosevelt his second term.

"Why would she do that?" 

"I do not know," Jeanette murmured. 

"And you were still able to put a mark on me, even weakened?" 

She was still able to restrain me. Still able to utterly bamboozle my senses on stage, even without eye-contact. Jesus. Jeanette was a lot stronger than I'd given her credit for. Definitely older than my original two-century estimate. Was she closer to three? Four? God, could she be five hundred? Nikolaos was the oldest I'd ever had the misfortune to meet, but she was a rarity. There weren't many vampires in Saint Louis who hit my senses as anything over two or three hundred. Almost all the ones I saw in public were new dead, jumping on the undead craze the second it became culturally relevant. 

I couldn't see it, but pressed tight against my back, I felt her shrug. 

"Oui." 

And that was apparently all she was willing to say on the matter. I pressed anyway. 

"How old are you?" 

"You still can't tell?" She sounded pleased. 

"I can never tell anything about you, Devanay." 

"Please call me Jeanette, ma petit chou." 

"Then call me Anita. I'm not your little..." I frowned. "Whatever that means." 

She chuckled. "If you were to type it into your interwebs, it would literally translate to 'my little cabbage.' But in the world of les pâtisseries it is a shortening of chou à la crème, or a cream puff."

And just like that, my hackles were raised. Years of being called cupcake, baby-cakes, and honey buns by the obnoxious members of the high school football team came roaring back, and my knee-jerk reaction was to slap and kick until she got the hell away from me. True, Jeanette hadn't tried to corner me and feel me up, like Clayton Snyder had after the team won the game that would take them to state. And I hadn't broken her nose yet like I had his. I most likely wouldn't get any shit for if from local police either, like I had back then. 

"Don't call me that," I whispered. "I'm serious. Don't ever fucking compare me to dessert again."

I jerked my hands free of hers. She let me go at last. I reached up, tore the blindfold away, and turned to glare at her. The strip lighting was gone here, but we appeared to be close enough to an exit that city light was able to diffuse through the caves. Jeanette stood quite still behind me, pale as a phantom, her gaunt face showing mild concern. Something of that haunting recollection must have slipped into my voice. 

"Very well. Shall I simply call you ma petite?" 

"Yeah, fine, whatever makes you fucking happy." 

I turned my face away from her. The burning was beginning at the corners of my eyes. Damn it. I hadn't been on the verge of tears this often since leaving Grandma Flores' when I was thirteen. The pain, the fear, the ghosts Jeanette had stirred, all of it was threatening to burst out in a genuine wail. I would not do that here. Not within earshot of vampires, and definitely not in front of the police. This breakdown doesn't work for me, ma'am. Reschedule it for a more convenient time, please.

"Anita..."

"Don't. Just don't." 

"I didn't mean to upset you." 

"Well, you did. Can we please, _please_ get the hell out of this place? It's giving me the jibblies."

Jeanette stepped a little closer, and her hand skimmed my arm from shoulder to wrist. I went very still, gritting my teeth to cage in a scream. I was hurt. I was exhausted. I didn't have weapons or the energy to fight her if I did. Maybe if I stayed put and didn't give her the reaction she wanted, she'd stop. 

"There is sorrow in your eyes again, Anita. One day you must tell me what haunts you." 

"And I'm hoping that one day we leave these caves. Looks like we're both disappointed, huh?"

Jeanette breathed out a soft sigh. She glanced first one way and then the other and then leaned in closer. The fingers of one hand pressed a little more firmly into my wrist while the other came up to the bodice of her dress. She dipped two fingers into the line of her cleavage and drew out a small square of paper. It looked like heavy cardstock, done up with sans serif text and a simple border. On the side facing me was Nikolaos' name, the address of the Burgess-Price building, and a series of numbers to call. But when Jeanette flipped it, there was a handwritten number on the back. The penmanship was flawless. Grandma Blake would have been impressed. 

"You will need assistance during daytime. Call this number. He is one of mine. Very trustworthy and reliable. I may not be able to contact you after this." 

"Why not?" 

"Promise me, Anita. If you need aid, call him." 

"Fine. Whatever." 

It was my turn to tuck the card between the bandages and one breast, number side out to keep it from being smudged. It was the only place I thought it would reliably stay put. My pants, and thus my pockets as well, were in a sad state. I was surprised they were staying on me at all. Which brought me to another problem.

"Jeanette...I can't go to the cops like this." I gestured broadly at my bandaged body and shredded pants. "I look like She-Hulk." 

Her lips pursed and her hand fell away.

"Yes, that would raise questions, wouldn't it? Follow me. I think there's a handy solution." 

I eyed her getup. "I'm not wearing that." 

She rolled her eyes and we began walking again. The lights grew brighter, and Jeanette's shape looked less ghostly, solidifying as we strode toward the neon glow of the city. 

"As if it would fit." 

"Are you calling me fat?" 

"Of course not. Just marveling at the size of your bosoms, ma petite. I do believe you could play basketball with them, were they able to detach." 

"Don't push me, Davenay. I _will_ kick your ass." 

She laughed, and the sound thawed some of the ice in my chest. Vampire wiles or good-old-fashioned charm, I wasn't sure. I embraced it because I didn't want to meet Zerbrowski on the verge of tears. 

There were shapes up ahead, loitering near what looked to be the cover to an enormous drain pipe. It looked like this cave system had been built to link up with a now-defunct portion of Saint Louis' old sewage system. Thankfully, whatever might have been caked to the bottom of the pipe had eroded away long ago. 

The shapes resolved themselves as we drew closer. Both were familiar, neither pleasant. To the left, leaning against the grate, smoking, was Willie. He'd donned mustard yellow pants this time, a purple dress shirt, and a green and pink polka-dotted tie. All he was missing was a red nose and a pair of big shoes to match. I wondered if it was his life's ambition to look like a clown. If he wanted to make it a career choice, all he had to do was apply for a job at the Circus of the Damned. 

Keats leaned against the opposite wall. At least, I thought it was Keats. His dark hair was inexplicably shorter, barely curling around his ears. He'd removed the velvet suit jacket, leaving him in a vest, dress shirt, and dress pants. He had a cigar wedged between his teeth. Romeo y Julieta, I was fairly sure. Grandpa Flores had been a fan, and some of his old things had been stuffed into the attic when I'd lived with my grandmother. The chest of drawers had smelled like those cigars. 

Willie choked on a lungful of smoke when Jeanette and I approached. He beat his chest a few times, though the breath wasn't really necessary for anything but speech these days. 

"Jesus, Anita. What happened? Nikolaos said she just wanted to talk to you!"

"Aubrey and I had a disagreement. He used a glass door to make his point."

"Not surprised," Keats said with a shrug, releasing cigar smoke in a long stream. "Aubrey's always been a sore fucking loser." 

I stared at him, nonplussed. Gone was the sophisticated host from Iniquity. The voice that issued from Keats' mouth was higher, a little more nasal, and he cut his words short. A Chicago accent, maybe? He sounded like he'd just stepped off the set of _The Outfit._

He grinned when he caught sight of my expression. "So you bought the Byronesque bullshit too, Executioner? That sort of thing make you weak in the knees?" 

"Fuck off, Keats." 

"It's Mo. Mo Cameron." 

God, the names around here. Less ridiculous than Keats, certainly but still...

"I beg your pardon, messieurs, but ma petite is rather...underdressed for her appointment with the police and we have little time to procure new clothing. One of you must part with your outerwear." 

My cheeks flamed as both their eyes locked on me, wondering which of them I'd choose. Which one of them would be stripping for the Executioner? I studied each of them, determinedly not looking at their faces. Clown getup, or ridiculous velvet suit? 

"C'mere Mr. Velvet," I sighed. "Let's get this over with."


	8. Chapter 8

The drain exit had deposited me at the base of the Mississippi Greenway, which was about a half an hour away from Bellefontaine Cemetery in good traffic. And because it was Saint Louis and Zerbrowski wasn't going to use lights and sirens, I could tack on an extra ten to fifteen to my estimate. The Saint Louis Riverfront Trails along the Greenway could be scenic in daylight. I'd run them with Ronnie on occasion. At night, I was left looking at the dancing lights of the city on the inky water. 

The river smelled terrible. That surprised a lot of people I'd encountered. Maybe it was different for people who grew up in big cities, where their only large bodies of water tended to either be the briny stuff off the coast or chlorinated pools. I'd grown up in the country, knew the smell of a big, muddy body of water. The river smelled like fish, rotting moss, dead leaves, and all manner of nastiness that it collected along the way. It reminded me of home. I was thinking of home a lot lately. 

I was grateful to have my things back, courtesy of Jeanette. Keys, wallet, cross, and gun. I was especially happy to have the Browning, even if I was nervous about wearing it without its holster. Stuffing a gun down your pants was a good way to shoot yourself in the ass. I wasn't sure who'd be crazy enough to jump me in this getup, but it was Saint Louis. We had ten times the national murder rate. There was probably someone desperate enough to waste me for fun or cash. Or maybe just because they were offended by my outfit. 

Zerbrowski's car would have been hard to pick out of a crowd if you didn't know what you were looking for. Police detectives, unlike regular officers, didn't get nifty patrol cars. They were unmarked, making them difficult to spot. This one was new, grudgingly provided by his insurance when it--I swear to God--had been destroyed by a weregator. Jesse Farrell had migrated in from Florida and started chowing down on paddle boaters on Simpson Lake, North of Saint Louis County. The headline had read, "Florida man arrested after consuming five tourists and a Ford Escape." 

The new car was a black Dodge Charger. If one looked closely, they might be able to make out the built-in grille-lights or the light bar on the front dash. Unmarked cars also tended to have municipal license plates. I was braced for it when the Charger came to a stop by the curb and the window slid down. Detective Zerbrowski's head poked out of the gap. 

Zerbrowski had a head of dark, curly hair going a little gray at the temples. He was thirteen years my senior, a father of two, and married to a woman who deserved to be canonized as a saint someday. You'd never know any of it upon meeting him. Zerbrowski was the human personification of the phrase "HR violation." No matter how well-dressed he left the house, he always ended up rumpled and covered in stains of mysterious origin. He'd borrowed his sense of humor from a frat boy half his age and then never gave it back. His hazel eyes were framed by a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. When they settled on me they lit up like a kid's on Christmas morning. 

"When'd you mug Austin Powers?"

"Laugh it up, Zerbrowski. Do you want me on the case or not? I could be doing something else right now." 

"Or _someone_ else?" 

I gave him the look the comment deserved. Zerbrowski lifted his hands from the wheel in a pacifying gesture. 

"Okay, okay. I'll stop for now. But you should probably have an explanation handy for Dolph. He's in rare form tonight." 

"What or who I do on my off-time is none of his damn business. If he wants this done now he has no right to bitch about what I'm wearing." 

I rounded the Charger and opened the passenger's side door. The interior was blessedly cool. The velvet clothing was so stifling I was afraid heatstroke would do me in before the vampires could. Only the undead could wear this sort of thing during a Missouri summer. Zerbrowski sat observing me, quietly amused, as I struggled with the seatbelt and my gun placement. My Browning ended up in the glove compartment for safekeeping and I managed to get the belt on after a few unsuccessful tries. Zerbrowski knew better than to take off before I was belted in. The one time he'd tried, I'd damn near bitten his head off.

My mother had died in a car crash. All it had taken was a sharp turn on the road out of town to change the entire course of my childhood. My mother had been thrown through the front window, or so I'd been told much, much later. The car had taken a nosedive into the nearby river and been lost for good. Maybe wearing her seatbelt would have saved her life. Maybe not. But I wasn't taking the chance. 

"Alright," I said, finally sinking into the seat. Maybe I'd take a nap on the way over. I really was exhausted. "Let's go." 

"One thing first," he said. His lips were turning white from the effort it took not to smile. 

"What?" 

"Say it." 

I scowled. "No." 

"Please, Anita. I _need_ you to say it." 

"Will it make you shut up?" 

"Maybe." 

"This never leaves the car," I said, glaring at him. "I swear to fucking God, I will kill you if you tell." 

He placed a hand over his heart, wide-eyed and innocent. "I won't tell a soul." 

I took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. 

"Do I make you horny? Randy?" 

Zerbwoski's laughter drowned out the Ramones song playing on his radio. He put the car in drive and steered us into traffic, cackling the whole way. 

"Yeah, baby!"

***

Bellefontaine Cemetery was situated on almost four hundred acres of incredibly beautiful land, or so I was told. I didn't see it much in daylight. I'd only had a few raisings in Bellefontaine, and the last time I'd been in this particular portion of the graveyard, Curtis' mother had tried to claw my eyes out, screaming that I'd as good as murdered her son. 

Curtis' grave was situated on the far edge of Wildwood Valley Gardens, the fairly upscale part of the cemetery. I could have walked to it, if I'd been in better shape both mentally and physically. As it was, I simply didn't have enough energy to expend on grief tonight. I'd visit at the end of the month if I was still breathing. Who knew? Maybe I'd fail and end up in a plot near his. Maybe that was the only silver lining I could hope for. 

_Why you're a regular old Pollyanna, aren't you Blake?_

Fortunately (for me not the poor murdered bastard) the victim was splayed out in the lot near the front office. CSI was already at the scene, cataloging all the details. To my exhausted mind, the camera flashes almost looked like fireflies, only resolving into what they were as we got closer. Two police detectives were on site as well. The female officer was new and I only knew her name because I'd caught the rookie who'd been shadowing me--Larry Kirkland--making eyes at her during a chance meeting with Zerbrowski and company at a diner. Breakfast for them, but supper for us, as we'd just gotten through with a particularly difficult raising and just put the zombie into the ground at dawn. 

Her name was Tammy Reynolds, and she was something of a rookie too. Tall, slender, with straight brown hair. Pretty, in a girl-next-door sort of way. She was a Christian witch if you could believe it. 

Law enforcement was slow to accept the psychically gifted into their ranks, no matter how useful it could be. I couldn't blame the public for being spooked, given how often magic had been used against them over the years. Tammy was one of Saint Louis PD's first psychic hires. She was still getting her legs beneath her. She looked a little green, which honestly exhausted me more. It was probably awful. 

Bloody drizzle to top my shit sundae. Yum. 

I trudged after Zerbrowski, knowing I should be more alarmed by the general sense of apathy that settled around me like a heavy coat. Too much, too quickly. I was probably going into shock. 

Detective Rudolph Storr was crouched near the body but straightened to his full and impressive height as we approached. I was average height, or close to it. Dolph made me feel tiny. He was 6'8, incredibly broad through the shoulders, with an impressive amount of muscle on his torso. All that bulk strained against his brown suit jacket and dress shirt, even at rest. He'd been a wrestler in college and used it to his advantage in the line of duty. I'd seen him take a hulking male vampire to the floor and keep him there with his cross until someone could slap cuffs on him. I never wanted to tangle with Dolph for real. 

His hair was close-cropped, dark and almost blending in with the night sky. He had eyes the color of faded denim. It should have been a warm color, but it wasn't. Not on him, at any rate. There was nothing soft or warm about Dolph when he was on a case. He was curt, almost to the point of rudeness at times. Laconic, Zerbrowski called it. He didn't talk much, and when he did, it was almost always to ask questions germane to the case. 

Almost always. His gaze swept over the velvet suit pants, which I'd been forced to roll up to avoid trailing them in the mud near the exit of the caves. They bagged off of me, as did the shirt and vest. I felt like a kid trying on her father's clothes, except that my father had never smelled like Aspen cologne. Dial soap, maybe, but not cologne. 

Dolph's mouth opened, ready to ask the question. I raised a finger to shush him. 

"Please, Dolph. I don't have it in me to explain. Can we just get this over with?" 

He shut his mouth and studied me for a moment more. Any other day I might have squirmed under his scrutiny. Tonight, I just hoped I didn't look like a dead-eyed victim. That would invite questions I couldn't answer. 

Dolph must have decided not to press, because he crouched near the body once more, turning so that I could see what we were dealing with.

"Impressions, Blake?" 

Dolph always did this. He stayed silent so I could absorb the scene, examining it without bias. Supposition could allow you to overlook clues.

So I looked because that was my job. I looked because this body had been a man once and he deserved justice if I could help deliver it. I looked, even though I didn't want to because this wasn't about me. 

It wasn't as bad as some of the cases I'd seen. Not a bloodbath like my wedding. But it was still bad. 

He'd probably been tall. The shoulder width and the length of the arms, what was left of them at any rate, suggested that. Impossible for me to judge, though, because everything below the waist was gone. A few loops of the grayish entrails trailed onto the grass, emerging from the body like macabre streamers, but that was it. Blood caked the grass beneath the body, flattening it. It almost didn't look real, at first. Stiff, like astroturf. Rib bones showed white where some of the skin had been peeled back. More blood beaded on the ribs, like condensation dripping off a glass. If I peered closely enough, there were gouges in the bone, shallow but there. Thin and squarish. Blood had settled into them, so perhaps an untrained eye might have missed that detail. 

I forced my gaze to travel upwards. He wore the gray uniform of a guard. It hung in tatters around the bottom of his torso, stained almost black with still more blood. Up again, this time to the face. The second the image registered, I wished it hadn't. The earlier nausea was back with a vengeance. Tammy had been right to look ill. 

The man's face was fixed into a look of mixed pain and terror. I wasn't sure how the face had stuck like that and stayed fixed until rigor. It took two to six hours for the body to stiffen. Which implied someone had helped it stick that way. Jesus. 

"He was eaten alive."

"Yes, and?" 

"It was human, or human-like." 

Dolph exchanged a glance with Zerbrowski. That had managed to surprise them. 

"How do you know? The prevailing theory was a therianthrope. They eat flesh, right?" 

"They do, but generally only after a shift. Most don't have the control to shift outside of the lunar cycle. It has to be a full shift, too. Half-man form doesn't bring out the full instincts of the beast." 

I was reminded forcibly of the half-man forms of a few of the strippers earlier in the night. 

"That's not what the literature says."

"The literature is out of date. You know how slow bureaucracy works. Half the stuff they teach in school and the seminars is bullshit. You want the unbiased facts about therians you need to subscribe to _Nature_ or _SCI_." 

"How can you be sure?" 

I crouched next to Dolph, careful not to step anywhere near the blood or trample the corpse.

"See the thin, shallow impressions on the rib bones? Teeth marks. Blunt human teeth. You'd see a very different pattern if it'd been a therian."

Dolph looked, swore, and then shook his head. 

"How'd we miss that?" 

I shrugged. "It's dark and you were already thinking therian."

"What do you think it could be, Anita? I can't see just any human being able to take this guy out. He was six feet tall and two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle according to his license. It held him down and ate him alive. What the hell could manage that? Ghoul? Maybe more than one?" 

It was a decent guess. No one knew how or why, but sometimes bodies rose out of their graves as ghouls. They were strong, able to rip bodies limb from limb and they were opportunistic. If they'd caught him unawares, they could have done this. But somehow, it didn't fit. Ghouls were scavengers. They'd go for easy prey first, exhuming every body they could find before they'd attack a living human. 

I shook my head. "No, I don't think so. You have to be damn good to become a cemetery guard. Most graveyards demand at least ten years in law enforcement or military service. Weapons proficiency is a must. This man would have been trained to deal with ghouls, among other things." 

Zerbrowski sucked in air through his teeth. I glanced up. He'd shoved his hands into his pockets and was frowning down at me. 

"I didn't know that. It seems like something we should have been briefed about somewhere along the way. How do you know that?"

"I work in cemeteries all the time. Sometimes I get there before the clients. There's a man named Sean who works at Lake Charles Park Cemetery. He's a former Marine. They have to be equipped to deal with all sorts of undead. Vampires and ghouls aren't the only things that rise in cemeteries. You get Draugr, Dybbuk, Drekavac, and more. Those are the ones that have corporeal bodies, at least part of the time. Sometimes you get poltergeists too. And Japan has it worse than we do. They sometimes get Gashadokuro." 

"Do I even want to know?" Zerbrowski asked. 

"No." 

"So it had to be something human-like, with enough strength to hold down a trained soldier and eat him alive. Something that bit out his tongue to stop him from screaming. Something with blunt teeth and something that has a grudge against vampires," Dolph mused.

I glanced away from Zerbrowski. "What makes you say that?" 

"We found another vampire's body tucked away in the shadow of a mausoleum. Same M.O. This was new. Seems like a hell of a coincidence they both got killed the same night, in roughly the same location." 

"Yeah." It was all I could think to say. 

"So, do you have a theory?" 

I did. I didn't like it, because it meant someone I knew could be culpable. But if I didn't at least posit the theory, there'd be more bodies like this one and I'd probably be outed as a criminal into the bargain. 

"It's probably a flesh-eating zombie. They're rare, but they happen." 

Dolph gave me very solid eye contact. There was a note of tension in his voice when he spoke. 

"Zombies don't rise on their own. They have to be called by an animator." 

"Yes, they do." 

I was so fucking tired. I didn't want to deal with this shit. I'd give anything to crawl into my bed and forget the horror for a few hours. 

"Anita..." Dolph began.

I knew what he wanted to ask. I nodded, knuckled my eyes, and tried to restrain a yawn. 

"I'll ask, Dolph. Was this all you needed? I'd like to get to bed." 

Dolph glanced from me to the corpse one last time before he nodded. 

"Call me tomorrow night with names, Blake. I want to know who's got the juice to do this." 

I gave him a weary salute and then turned to go. I tripped over my pant legs, which had slipped down again, a few times. I shrugged off Zerbrowski's hands when he tried to steady me. He took the hint and let me walk alone. He didn't open the car door for me when we reached it. I was grateful. I'd had enough of being the invalid. 

The ride passed in a blur. I barely remembered climbing out of the car when we reached my apartment complex. It was a nice place, situated in a fairly quiet neighborhood. My landlady, Mrs. Pringle, was the grandmotherly sort. A hell of a lot nicer and less judgemental than Grandma Flores. Not as brassy as Grandma Blake. She seemed like the type who baked cookies and gave stellar presents at Christmas. 

It was the witching hour and no one but the insomniac down the hall from me would be awake. The air conditioner was a hushed breath in the hall as I shuffled my way to my door. I'd sweat through the vest and dress shirt. It probably wasn't salvageable. I didn't really care. I fished the keys to my apartment out of the velvet suit pants, slotted the smallest into the lock, and turned. The mechanism clicked. 

I kicked off the pants the second the door shut behind me. The panties were sexier than the bra I'd worn to Iniquity. It was laundry day, and I'd shoved all the others into the wash. Jeanette would be disappointed she hadn't gotten a peek. 

A distinctive click of a hammer being cocked sounded from my right. I froze mid-step, spine going ramrod straight. 

"Good evening, Anita," a calm baritone voice said. No trace of an accent. Perfectly middle-American. I knew it well. I turned my head. 

He wasn't overly tall for a man. Built lean, so one might underestimate the muscle tone that lay beneath the form-fitting gray shirt. He was blond, blue-eyed. Generically handsome. A small smile curled lips just a little too thin. 

"Hello to you too, Edward."


	9. Chapter 9

Edward didn't lower the gun, even as I stepped further into my apartment. I hadn't really expected him to. 

It wasn't his usual. Edward often carried a Sig Sauer, among other weaponry, on his person at all times. I was pretty sure he even slept with the damn thing. The gun in his hand now was older, and familiar. It was a Colt Detective Special, gone a little dingy with age and with fingerprints worn into the grip. It had been Grandma Blake's, once upon a time, when she'd had a concealed carry. She'd given it to me as a gift after I'd graduated high school and announced my intention to attend college in Saint Louis. She'd sent more dangerous things my way over the years, and I was grateful for all of it. 

Grandma Blake gave great birthday presents. Potentially deadly presents, sure. But great.

The Colt had gotten me through college just fine, but I preferred the Browning (and even the Firestar) for many reasons. The Browning had fourteen shots, compared to the six I'd get from the Detective Special. In my line of work, the extra bullets could save my life, so I'd retired the Colt for anything other than home defense. Edward must have been going through my things. 

I scanned the room and, sure enough, there was a large box open near the end of my couch. I wished I had it in me to be outraged. Instead, I just cocked one hip and gave him a flat, unfriendly stare. 

"Am I allowed to put on pants and a proper shirt before you plug me?"

I stripped off the shirt as I said it, exposing the bandages stretched across my chest. He studied my bare legs and then my torso. Not with that sort of fevered desire some men get when they saw a naked woman, but with the dispassionate sort of interest one has in a car or new furniture. You didn't buy it if it was damaged. Edward eyed the mostly-healed cuts with a frown. 

"You were hurt." 

"Vampire in an office building. I was thrown through a glass door. He's taken care of, so I don't want to go into it more than that." 

Edward nodded, accepting that without question. That was one of the things I liked about Edward. He didn't pick at things, the way Zerbrowski or Dolph might. The very brief explanation would have provoked an inquisition from any of the officers at the crime scene. Edward trusted that I'd tell him if it was something he needed to know, and if it wasn't, he'd mind his own damn business. I respected him enough to reciprocate. There was only one valid question that needed asking. 

"What are you doing here, Edward?" 

He smiled then, flashing me a very white, very charming smile. He oozed good ol' boy charm and his voice came out light and teasing. All an act. Sociopaths are good at faking it. 

"I can't just visit a friend?" 

"Most friends don't hold guns on each other," I pointed out dryly. 

"We're not those sorts of friends, are we, Anita?"

"No, we aren't." 

I wasn't even sure if friends was an appropriate description, but it was the best we had. We were definitely more than acquaintances, more than co-workers. We weren't family. We weren't fuck-buddies. So friend was what we used, even if it didn't really fit. We killed monsters together on occasion. He did it for fun and profit. I did it out of a sense of duty. At the end of the day though, the monsters were no less dead. If he was in Saint Louis, someone was going to die. 

"Am I the mark, Edward?" 

"If you were, do you think we'd be having this conversation?" 

It was meant as a question, I was fairly sure, but it had the matter-of-fact tone of a statement. 

He was right, of course. If I'd been less drained, I wouldn't have had to ask. Edward was a crack shot, no matter what weapon he was using. He could have taken me out by taking up a position near Animators Inc. One shot right between the eyes. No muss, no fuss. 

I crossed over to the small laundry area, Edward still trailing me with the Colt. I pried open the dryer and rummaged around, finally producing an overlarge sleep shirt and a pair of men's boxers that I'd been given as a gag gift last Christmas. They actually worked well as sleep shorts, as short as I was in comparison to most men.

I felt more comfortable when dressed. I turned back to face him at last.

"So you want my help?" 

The smile grew, revealing a molar or two. "Oh, Sugar, I thought you'd never ask." 

"Call me sugar again and I'll black your eyes. Now get the damn gun off me, sit at the table, and we'll talk."

Edward smirked before setting the Colt Detective Special on the coffee table, resting it on the latest issue of _Nature_. Just beneath that was last month's issues of _Parabola_ and _Psychology Today._

He nudged the box with the edge of one boot. I was only now getting a full impression of him. His shoulder holster showed starkly against the light gray of his shirt. A discarded denim jacket lay in a rumpled pile on one of my couch cushions. He wore a pair of black tactical pants tucked into steel-toed combat boots.  
How did I know they were steel-toed? I'd been kicked by them, more than once, over the course of the training he'd given me. 

He plucked something from the box and frowned down at it. 

"Why do you have twelve cans of Aqua Net?" 

A smiled, though it was a brittle thing. Any stress would chip it right off my face. 

"It was an experiment Grandma Blake and I conducted." 

"To see how much you could inhale before it killed you?"

"To see if water blessed by a priest is the only blessed liquid that'll work against vampires." 

Edward's brows bounced up a half-inch. It was a red-letter day for me, in so many ways and this was just the crowning moment. I'd surprised Edward. 

"What's the verdict?" 

I grinned at him. "Looks like most liquids will do. I can sneak blessed perfume past most security, with the exception of TSA. The aerosols just have the added benefit of being flammable." 

Edward let out a sharp, surprised bark of laughter. His blue eyes sparkled with dark, anticipatory hunger. I never liked seeing that look in his eyes. 

"You created a holy flamethrower?" 

"Looks like it." 

"This is why I want you on my team, Blake. You really ought to think about joining. You could do a lot of good working with us." 

I paused with my hand on the handle of my fridge door. I was fairly sure I still had a Coke or two somewhere in the back, leftover from when Ronnie and I had a sort of quarterly get-together type party to blow off steam. Last time we'd had pizza and Coke and marathoned all the vampsploitation films that Hammer Horror had made in the seventies and eighties. The Circus of the Damned featured in three of the most well-liked, _Cirque de Sang, Bloody Big Top_ , and _Sideshow._ At least a quarter of the visitors to the Circus wanted to tour the iconic locale, and take photos of the actors. Most were still alive. Or rather, undead. 

I yanked the door open, ducking my head inside to disguise the moment of hesitation. I did have two Cokes left. They were probably flat, but Edward wouldn't give a shit. 

"My answer is still the same, Edward. You know I'm not comfortable with that." 

For as long as I'd known him, Edward had been an agent of a shady government body. I didn't know which government it answered to. I barely knew how it operated except what Edward had told me (and there was no guarantee that was Gospel truth.) I also had no idea what the agenda might be. I just knew that Edward was one of their best. He'd earned himself the nickname Death in some circles. He wasn't someone to be trifled with. 

And strangely, he wanted me to join him. He'd been after me since my expulsion from my college's ROTC program. I'd been hoping to pay for college and serve a tour or two with an Army unit before I was placed on a military science trajectory. I had been (and I supposed I still was) a patriot at heart. That plan had been completely scuppered when I'd inadvertently raised a recently passed instructor after he'd committed suicide. The military had a don't-ask-don't tell policy about a lot of things, including psychic ability. I'd been booted the second my status as an animator had been made known. There were rumors that policy was going to be overturned, and I might be able to sue for re-entry, but I wasn't really upset about it anymore. I'd grown past that. 

Edward had been there, waiting to induct me into the ranks. I'd told him no. 

A few years passed and Curtis was killed. Edward had arrived not long after, whispering promises of revenge like sweet nothings in my ear. 

I'd told him no again. I'd keep telling him no. There was barely anyone to answer to, according to Edward. They could pose as almost any authority in the world, get in on police cases, and affect the outcome. These people took money, could take on independent hits if they chose. I wasn't comfortable being a killer for hire. No one should have carte blanche to commit murder. 

Edward frowned at me but didn't push. He took the Coke can when I slid it across the table toward him. He popped the tab, took a sip, and just watched me. I popped the tab on my Coke as well, sipped, and grimaced. Yes, it was definitely flat. 

"Who's the mark?" I asked. 

"Nikolaos. Someone wants the Master of the City dead. Her retinue as well, if I can manage it. Is there anything you can tell me about her that I don't already know? My sources tell me you had a meeting with some of her people tonight." 

I just stared at him open-mouthed. "How did you...? Who could have possibly told you? I didn't even know where I'd be going tonight!" 

He waggled his eyebrows, grinned, and then swigged his Coke. He really didn't seem to mind that it was flat. 

"That would be telling." 

I wanted to be furious with him. He could have given me a little fucking warning about what I'd be facing. I couldn't maintain even a spark of indignance for longer than a few seconds. I was about ten minutes from collapsing onto the couch and sleeping for the next day and a half. I'd need to call Bert and take a sick day. I didn't want to deal with the ass-chewing I'd get for dipping into my paid time off. Bert seemed offended by just the concept and begrudged any of us using it. 

"You know her biography, I assume?" 

"A thousand years old, or thereabouts. Born in Greece, assumed a man's name and posed as the male heir to many families over the centuries, which is how she amassed her wealth." 

I blinked. "I didn't know that last bit. Who are these sources?" 

He only smiled. "The daytime resting place, Anita. Did they take you there?" 

"I think so, but it's not going to do you any good, Edward. I was unconscious when I went in and blindfolded when I was led out. All I can tell you is that it's set up in some sort of cave system. Far enough underground that electricity is either impossible or highly impractical. I really don't know how far they stretch. They're man-made, and very likely illegal, which means these caves probably won't be on any maps. It could be beneath this apartment or out of city limits for all I know." 

"Anything you _do_ know?" 

"She was turned young and by a line of vampires with the power to feed on fear."

Edward leaned back, eyebrows quirking a little. "Interesting." 

"Something you already knew?" 

"No, but it's good. Changes the way I have to approach this, though. Mind telling me why you had to tangle with her in the first place?" 

"She wants a series of vampire murders and disappearances solved and has enough leverage on me to ensure I can't say no. Someone is targeting Master Vampires. Five are dead, five are missing, and that leaves another five Masters in the Kiss still known to be living...undead...whatever." 

Jeanette's words came back to me, almost as if she were here, whispering them into my ear. 

_"You will need assistance during daytime. Call this number. He is one of mine. Very trustworthy and reliable."_

I fished it out from beneath my bandages. It was a little damp with perspiration, but the ink hadn't smudged much, so I could still make out the number. I wasn't sure how Jeanette would feel about me using this contact to help Edward kill the rest of her Kiss. It would solve a hell of a lot of problems, though. If Nikky and her pals were gone, the threat of blackmail disappeared. I just had to steer Jeanette clear until I could figure out how to get her mark off of me. 

"I think this man might have some idea of where we need to go," I said slowly, trying to stifle a yawn. "But if you want me along, you have to give me at least a little time to heal, Edward. When's your deadline?" 

"End of the week. Think you can be up for it by then?" 

"Probably." 

He nodded, finished off the Coke, and then propped his feet up on one of the other chairs. He leaned his head lazily on the back, adopting a very relaxed pose. 

"Get some sleep, Anita. We'll talk strategy in the morning." 

Having him here shouldn't have been comforting. Death lurking outside your door should be frightening, right? 

To hell with it. I could admit that I liked having him there. I deserved a good night's rest, and having Edward watching my back was the best damn thing that had happened to me all day. 

Scary, that. 

***

I didn't need Nikolaos' help to have nightmares. It was often the only thing that my brain churned out after hours. My brain was a kaleidoscope of horrors, and one or more would inevitably appear as I slept.

This one was an oldie but a goodie. It had been cropping up since I was young, emerging at around the same time as my animating ability. Half the reason I'd had trouble controlling my power was the fear it would make the nightmare worse. It hadn't, but the dream recurred often. 

In it, I crawled through muck, nails torn down to the quick so that it sent stabs of agony lancing up my arm every time I tried to drag myself forward. I should just have laid still and let the end come, but I couldn't. I couldn't lay down and bleed out like a lamb slaughtered on an altar. I would probably die anyway. My stomach was flayed open, and God only knew what kept my innards from slopping onto the ground. 

I kept crawling in a circle, round and round a headstone with my name on it. I couldn't do anything else, because circling me, driving me forward were enormous saber-toothed cats. I hesitated to call them tigers because there were none that size in recorded history. Even the therian version hadn't gotten this large. They were easily the size of the modern African Bush Elephant. They had to weigh tons. Even being stepped on would be fatal. So I kept moving, drawing a bloody circle of power around the grave. They watched me through pitiless golden eyes.

There was a corpse inside. Dried and desiccated, the body so wasted that it was hard to tell it had once been female. I assumed it was female because the heavy pelts she wore draped modestly over the chest and hips. A pair of crudely made shoes covered her bony feet. They'd probably been pretty in whatever prehistoric time the corpse had lived in. They were made of tanned hide, and were decorated with shell fragments and edged by tiny pearls.

Stringy black hair clung to the skull in places. It looked like it might have been curly once, but it was impossible to know for sure. 

The eyes were sunken and really should have been gone at this point in decomposition. The soft tissue goes first when rot sets in. This body still had eyes behind the leathery lids, a tongue gleaming wetly in the mouth as if she might speak. I prayed to God she never did. I didn't want to hear the voice. I didn't want to see her eyes. 

The night sky above me was like a mass of swirling ink, all stars blotted out and no moon to give me any light to see by. The only light emanated from the sabertooths' eyes, casting ghastly spotlights on the grave. I wanted to scream, but there was no air. I was choking on ooze that reeked of jasmine and petrichor. 

I bolted upright in bed, choking on a scream, the word "mother" beating against the inside of my skull. I had never said it out loud, even when the nightmare had been new, afraid that saying the word would make it real. I knew she wasn't _my_ mother. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to say it. I didn't want to wake her. 

My breathing was so harsh and ragged that it took me a few moments to hear the ring of my cell phone. When I did, I wished I hadn't. 

_Truly, Madly, Deeply_ , crooned into the room like a sensual echo of nights past. Curtis and I had made love to this song more than once. I turned my head to stare at the smartphone that lay charging on the bedside table. I choked on a fresh scream, desperately hoping this was another nightmare.

Curtis' smiling face was a backdrop to the number. Funny how you forget faces if you don't see them often enough. He had sandy brown hair, rich hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and a charming smile that showed just a hint of teeth. The lips were full, with a cupid's bow that I'd traced on more than one' occasion. His nose was a little crooked, broken in a childhood fight. I'd liked it. I thought it added character to his face. His mother disagreed with me and had tried to get him to have work done. 

"No," I whispered. "No. Please." 

This couldn't be happening. I'd left his cell phone in the casket, under his body, the night before the funeral. I didn't want his mother to take and delete all his photos of me before recycling it. 

I reached for the phone anyway, answering it before it could go to voicemail. I lifted the phone mechanically to my ear and croaked; 

"Hello?" 

"Anita." 

Tears dewed on my lashes and a tortured moan forced its way out of me. Oh God, oh God, oh God. 

"Curtis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I made a couple of changes to canon here that will impact a lot of future fix-it fics. One big change is the Federal Marshal thing. It's probably the worst branch that Hamilton could have put Anita in (as well as the fact all you need to get in is a marksmanship test? The hell?) They mostly deal with Witness Protection and things of that sort, which would be fine, if that's what Anita ended up doing most of the time. But it's not. Even if a marshal is in the Special Operations Group, the job description is: Deputies must meet rigorous physical and mental standards. The group's missions include: apprehending fugitives, protecting dignitaries, providing court security, transporting high-profile and dangerous prisoners, providing witness security, and seizing assets. (Physical standards Anita might meet but mental? Somehow I don't think she'd pass the psych test.)
> 
> It really seems like she wanted to put Anita in the FBI but couldn't commit to it. The duty of the FBI comes a lot closer to the sorts of cases that Anita covers. Failing that, she really should have created a whole new covert operation so Anita could get away with breaking all the rules and suffer no consequences for it. So that's what I'm doing. VanCleef's mysterious organization was just begging to be put to good use. 
> 
> Also, another change is Anita's reason for being so good as a vampire hunter. I've been reading a spork of Affliction recently and it's outright highlighted that all the educational background Anita has is a biology degree. No forensics, no psychology, nothing. She has no training, no background in anything useful, and she's still automatically better than people who have been doing it longer and have undergone training to earn it. It kind of pisses me off. And no, I don't buy the fact that she went hunting with her father as an excuse for why she's good at killing things. (Also that being good at killing people is a trait that should be lauded? I don't like that either. In an ideal world Law Enforcement is there to stop senseless death, not cause it.) 
> 
> I also live in the state of Missouri and I grew up in a very rural area. Everybody and their brother hunts around here. So much so that in my hometown there was a series of camo Sundays so that hunters coming in during deer season didn't stand out during the Sunday Service. All that to say, there needs to be a more grounded reason/better starting place for Anita's skill.
> 
> Anyways I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)


	10. Chapter 10

My mouth was arid, and every swallow hurt. I knew it wasn't technically possible, but it felt like my heart was going to explode right out of my chest. Each beat was painful like someone had slid a blade just under my heart and kept twisting. It was agonizing, but not enough to end me.

"Curtis," I said again, this time with more volume. 

I wasn't sure if he was on the other end of the line. Maybe someone was taking a practical joke miles too far. Somehow, I didn't think so. 

The information overload from the last twenty-four hours began to sort itself out like puzzle pieces easily put together once you had them gathered in one place. I just wished the picture it was composing wasn't so damn ugly. 

"Anita," he said again. There was an edge of fear in his voice. "Where are you?" 

My fingers flexed around the phone, pressing in so tightly the case creaked. I tasted blood in my mouth. I must have bitten my tongue in my effort not to scream. I swallowed it thickly, and damn, it still hurt to do it. 

My free hand groped along the bedcovers to the mounded pillows and the soft plush penguin that nestled between the pair. I wasn't sure why I kept pillows on both sides of the bed anymore. There'd been no one to sleep on the left side for years now. It had amused Curtis to no end when we'd wake up with the toy penguin he'd bought me sandwiched between us. I clutched Sigmund hard to me, banding one arm around my chest, as though it could slow the furious pounding of my heart. 

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't fucking breathe. Sweat dewed on my forehead and palms, even though my apartment was a chilly sixty degrees at the moment. After the sauna-like nature of the night, I'd turned on all the fans in the apartment before bed. And yet, it didn't make a difference now. I tried to stand, swayed, then collapsed to the ground. Was I going to faint? God, I felt like such a girl. 

Did I get a pass for it this time? I had to, right? If your brutally slaughtered fiance called you from beyond the grave, it warranted a little panic attack. 

I refused to pass out. I balled my hands into the hideous blue shag carpeting Mrs. Pringle had installed in every apartment, holding onto consciousness with white-knuckled determination. I wasn't going to scream or cry or pass out. I wouldn't give the animator on the other end of the phone the satisfaction. Because there had to be an animator on the other end manipulating Curtis' body like a snake.

I realized with a nauseating flash of insight, Curtis had been the one to end the guard. He was the flesh-eater. Fuck. And somehow he was aware enough to talk, despite that, which meant someone of significant power was on the other end of the line.

There were only eight animators at Animators Inc. for a reason. Bert only took the best he could rake in from the Midwest. He didn't mind mining from The Resurrection Company or Élan Vital when he thought he could get away with it. But most hires weren't lured away from their posts there. Better weather and pay in California and better food in New Orleans.

Sensing death was a fairly common psychic ability, hence why there was a medium on almost every street corner in big cities. Hell, even Stillwater had one when I was growing up. Raising animals even for a brief time was harder, but enough people could do it that it had been an off and on problem for the latter half of the twentieth century. A disgusting amount of people used it to indulge in necrophilia _and_ bestiality in one go. 

A step up from that was true animating ability, to call bigger things from the grave. Humans, most often. Regular animators called rotted, shambling corpses. Only a handful in the state could call things that could talk and stay animated for any length of time. I was one of the few that could call humans from their graves that looked entirely lifelike. One of the top ten. Nine, now, I supposed, as one of our number had recently died in Kansas City. I'd been serving a warrant, and so hadn't been able to attend his funeral.

The fucker on the other end of the phone was as good as me. So why hadn't I felt him or her working? Larry, Manny, and the others felt me when I did big magic, so why couldn't I feel this guy? 

"Anita?" Curtis' voice wavered, frightened. 

My stomach swooped like I'd come down off the high point of a hill. My pulse still hammered, I could barely hear myself when I answered. I forced myself to speak because, trick or not, I couldn't let him suffer. Not again. 

"I'm here, sweetheart," I assured him, choking on the last word. 

I'd hated endearments for a long time. I still hated them when others applied them to me, but it had been different with Curtis. I wondered if it'd make him happy, wherever he was. Because whoever was on the other end of the line wasn't Curtis. Not really. A zombie was just an echo, the impression that a soul left on the body, like a shape cast in resin. 

"Where are you?" 

My door swept open and Edward stepped in, his Sig at the ready. It almost made me smile. He must have heard the thump of my knees hitting the floor and come to investigate. Gun at the ready of course, because anything that could take me to the ground without much sound wouldn't be here to chat. _Semper Paratus_ , that was my Edward. 

I didn't know if acknowledging his presence in the room would make my mysterious tormenter hang up, so I didn't greet him. I tried to compose a response, stall for time, hoping that Edward would know what to do. I was still exhausted, emotionally spent, and clearly not firing on all cylinders. 

I should have been more on top of this. I hated looking like a weakling or an incompetent, even if it was more likely to make Edward leave me alone in the future. 

I tapped the speaker button and answered his question with one of my own. 

"Where are _you_ , Curtis? Why don't I come to you instead?" 

Edward's face twitched once in surprise, but that was all the outward indication he gave. He didn't ask questions, didn't fret over me, or try to touch me. Sometimes it was frightening just how well he understood my moods. It made me wonder if I was being manipulated so subtly I didn't notice. Now was not the time to ponder the possibility. 

Edward waved his hand in a silent 'carry on' gesture before melting back into the shadows beyond my doorway. I wasn't sure what he was up to but followed the order without question. I'd keep Curtis talking and maybe get the animator on the other end of the line to reveal himself. 

The zombie on the other end of the line balked at the question. It let me hear the faint but still audible hoot of an owl. He was outside, somewhere. I waited, each second chafing against my self-control. I wanted to scream at the sick bastard who'd orchestrated this. I was going to kill them, warrant or no warrant. Something like this should earn them a prime slot in the ninth circle of hell. 

"Curtis, sweetheart, I need you to tell me where you are." 

My chest throbbed with pain. I wanted to throw up. I hadn't felt this fucking awful since his death and the ensuing clusterfuck that had been his funeral. I tried to focus on that, instead of the return of my panic attack. I needed to be sensible. Grounded. I knew what caused this. Emotional pain shared the same pathways as physical pain in the brain. Emotional upset stimulated a biological cascade. In really bad cases, the anterior cingulate cortex stimulated the vagus nerve, thus the pain and nausea. 

I willed him to answer, reaching for my power, trying in vain to push it into him over the phone. The distance was probably too great. I tried anyway. Zombies had to tell the truth. The dead brain was a collection of synapses, little more than a biological computer. An animator input a question, and the brain had to spit out an answer. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, depending on which way I looked at it) I hadn't raised Curtis. Just because he couldn't lie didn't mean he could answer me. That was up to the animator on the other end of the phone. 

"I think..." he began, drew in an unnecessary breath, and I thought he might have licked his lips. "I think I'm near the Cherith Church in the West Side. Last I remember people were screaming....and I lost track of you. There was so much blood...please tell me you're okay, Anita. Let me come to you. Or you come to me, but I need to see that you're safe." 

I clenched my teeth around another sound of pain. It was bad enough that my breathing hitched, threatening a sob. Curtis was aware enough to be concerned for me. His first thought was finding me. Did he even know he was dead? That took a serious amount of juice. Why the fuck couldn't I sense the bastard? 

Edward saved me the trouble of answering right away, striding into the room with a jumble of wires and what looked like a portable computer. He held his hand out for the phone and I slapped it into his hand without a fight. I thought I had an inkling of what he was doing. 

_Keep him talking_ , Edward mouthed. 

"Of course I'll come. But first, could you tell me who's there with you?" 

I needed to placate him. If he was a flesh-eater, he was after his murderer. Impossible, because I'd killed Jett Mayer and his groupies, but that wouldn't matter to the zombie. He'd eat anyone he came across. It was unusual that he was so placid. I didn't think that even I could keep a murderous zombie on a leash for long. 

There was a shuffling sound on the other end of the line and then another voice filtered through my speakers. It was layered by a voice distortion device, so it was impossible to tell if I was speaking to a man or a woman. The bass was low and resonant like it should have shaken my bones if I'd been nearby.

"Executioner. How nice to finally speak to you again." 

The tone was genteel, slightly lilting in a way I thought should be familiar, but couldn't pin down because of the distortion. It was all old-world civility, candy-coated with a layer of menace. It was probably a long shot, but I had to try. 

"Mind giving me your name? Seems unsporting to leave me in the dark like this."

The resulting chuckle was a little eerie, warped as it was. I wasn't sure why, but my instinct was vampire. Which made no sense, because I'd never met a vampire with the power to animate. Occasionally one or two I'd encountered, like Nikolaos, had psychic gifts beyond the vampiric norm. Never animating though. The dead didn't raise the dead. 

Curiouser and curiouser. The killings were being done in a group of at least three. 

"Do you truly believe I'd be so foolish?" 

No, but a girl could dream. Life would be so much easier if bad guys were all as easy to snare as Bond Villains. Yes, I will tell you my evil plot and leave the room chuckling so you can make an easy escape. 

Life was never accommodating enough to give me an easy win. 

I tried for light and playful. Witty repartee was practically demanded when a bad guy decides to menace you. I was pretty sure the act wouldn't have convinced a Kindergartener.

"C'mon. Not even a little hint? You're going to hurt my feelings." 

Another eerie chuckle. "Oh, I hope so. I hope you're hurting, Executioner. I hope you're scared. I want you broken before I kill you." 

"You'll have to get in line, buddy. Nikolaos has dibs."

The voice on the other end of the line hummed thoughtfully. 

"Yes, I had heard that. It makes things complicated, but not unmanageable." 

The sentence gave me a little insight, even if the vampire hadn't meant it to. This vampire wasn't as powerful as Nikolaos but didn't overly fear her either. They were probably beholden to her, which was the reason for all this cloak and dagger bullshit. Jeanette was right. Someone was jockeying for power. Nikolaos was their ultimate target. Every powerful vampire in the city was being axed, one by one, so that by the time they struck, she had no allies. 

Had this vampire also hired Edward to cover their bases? I'd need to ask him soon. 

"Why?" Was all I could think to ask. "Why all this?" 

"You took everything from me, Executioner. Vengeance is mine; I will repay." 

My lips twisted, a bitter taste coating my tongue. Wrong. It was just so wrong to hear the arrogant bastard on the other end bastardize scripture. The voice wasn't done, however. 

"I think I'll start with your dearly departed darling. Not as satisfying since he's gone, but I hear zombies can still scream. Shall I put it to the test?"

"No!" I hadn't meant to shriek it. It would encourage the sick motherfucker. 

The last thing I heard before the line clicked was a cry of pain and Curtis' begging me to come to him. 

My eyes burned with the effort it took not to cry. I couldn't break down in front of Edward. I'd find a quiet moment to indulge the horror later. I squeezed my eyes shut, tried to steady my breathing like this was a day at the range. Blot out sound, breathe in slow, and find that center of calm. Be logical. 

I couldn't help Curtis. At least, not right now. A glance at the clock showed it was only an hour until dawn. If I was right, the vampire would need to find a safe place to die for the day. Zombie Curtis would be slower during daytime, and less of a threat to everyone else. The vampire probably only had twenty minutes or so to torment him. 

A lot could happen in twenty minutes. 

"Did you get the location?"

Edward scowled. "No. But I heard the zombie. It's as good a place as any to start." 

"Tomorrow," I said, taking the phone from him when he offered it. "I can't do this right now, Edward. I'm too tired. If I square off against a vampire or my flesh-eating fiance, I'll die. We'll start tomorrow afternoon after I've had a chance to talk to Bert, Ronnie, and Jeanette's contact. Can you meet us at Dead Dave's?" 

Edward's frown grew even deeper as he studied me. I schooled my expression, gave him the sort of blank cop face Dolph usually wore. 

"This isn't normal, Anita. I've seen you hunt on less sleep than this. Why are you this strapped for energy?"

That was an excellent question, and one I wished I knew the answer to. Was it the healing Jeanette had performed? That had to be it, right? I'd need to ask her. Failing that, I could ask her flunkie tomorrow. 

"Tomorrow, Edward. We'll do dinner and discuss dismembering this sick fuck." 

He grinned then, all sparkling white teeth, eagerness shining in those striking blue eyes. I bet he'd charmed the pants off of woman with that smile. 

"Ah, Sugar, you say the sweetest things." 

True to my word, I swung at him. He knocked my arm away easily, laughing. Laughing, in the midst of all this shit. Crazy bastard. 

"It's a date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that in the series there have been vampires who raise the dead, but usually after inheriting the MOAD's power. In any case, I'm probably going to keep altering canon where I find it logical and/or where it fits with the way I've plotted these re-writes. 
> 
> I think there's conflicting stuff about flesh-eaters from book to book, and sometimes pinning down canon can be a chore with Hamilton's work. I'm going with the later retcon about murder victims being flesh-eating zombies when they rise. That is if they know they were murdered. I think it's probably the mindset that matters.
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy the chapter. :)


	11. Chapter 11

It seemed wrong that I should be able to sleep after what had just happened, but I did. Almost the second my head touched the pillow, I was pulled under by a black current of sleep and thrust headfirst into dreams. 

I was almost afraid to open my eyes, even in the dream. It seemed cowardly, even to me. After the harrowing night I'd endured, I didn't want a repeat of the unnerving dream, with the enormous predatory cats and the corpse that was somehow more horrific than any number of monsters I'd faced. I wasn't sure which of my nightly terrors would pop in tonight, but it seemed a good bet Curtis would be the main lead.

Eventually, shapes began to emerge from the black, and I was pleasantly surprised to find myself seated on a bar stool, elbows propped on the smooth, hard surface of the counter. As a longtime teetotaler, I really wasn't up on what the material was called, just that it had the texture and look of frosted glass without being as brittle. It allowed gentle pulses of vibrant color to bleed through the semi-opaque surface. As I watched, it shifted from blue to green, then green to violet, like an undulating wave on a neon sea. 

The case behind the bar was backlit in similar material, allowing the light to bleed through dozens of mostly full bottles of alcohol. I recognized a few of the names, but most of them were foreign to me. There was no bartender that I could see, and yet a tall champagne flute had been placed on a coaster just to my right, filled almost to the brim with orange juice. A mimosa, maybe? 

"Virgin, ma petite." 

The soft, lilting voice came from near my elbow, and I jerked away from it on instinct, almost sliding off my barstool in my haste to get away. 

Jeanette was seated primly on the stool next to mine, also leaning against the bar. Or maybe draped across it was a better descriptor. She was half out of her seat already, most of her weight supported by the multi-hued countertop. She looked different than when I'd seen her last, waltzing around in her skimpy stripperesque wardrobe. 

Now she wore a deep navy blue evening gown, with a wide, flared skirt that swallowed most of the barstool. Bits of the underside showed as she moved, though I couldn't have said what the material was called if pressed. I was sure Judith or Andria would know. Crinoline? Tulle? Surely something itchy that would bring back memories of being stuffed into frilly dresses for my father's wedding to Judith and then later for the prom I'd been forced to attend. Each of them had been pink, thus inspiring my eternal loathing for the color and the style both. They'd looked tacky as hell in the pictures. 

It looked good on her, though. The bodice clung, yes, but the scoop neck and long sleeves didn't do much to draw attention to her body the way both costumes in Iniquity had. The front was spangled with small sequins, so that it almost resembled the sky at dusk, when the stars were just beginning to peek out. 

Her sleek, dark hair had been tied up in a neat chignon and pinned in place with sequined pins that matched the dress. Her pale face was a little pensive as she stared at the wine glass in her hand. It was half-filled with a thick, crimson liquid that I tried not to peer too closely at. A cocktail pick bobbed out of the drink, beaded by blackberries. I grimaced. Blood and blackberries? Possibly the worst combination I could imagine. But then, I'd never been a fan of the fruit. 

"What?" I finally managed to force out. 

I'd been staring at her, distracted by the unexpected change and just how flattering it was. I hadn't thought she could become more attractive. Didn't people tend to get sexier the less they wore? Everything about Jeanette seemed to work in reverse. She was more compelling with clothes on. Maybe there was something to be said about a little mystery. 

"A virgin cocktail, ma petite. I gather you do not drink." 

I frowned at her. "Where'd you hear that?" 

"Luther," she replied with a shrug. "Do you think that you are the only one he sells information to?"

Luther was the daytime bartender at Dead Dave's, the bar-and-grill joint located in the District. It was a hotbed of vampire gossip and a sort of stomping ground of mine for the last three years. Dead Dave, the vampire owner, and by extension his employee Luther, sold information about all the bad little vampires to me for a price. The tips I gave were almost never enough to cover the information I gained, but the promise of safety I offered Dave from the police was. I might have to rethink that protection if Dave was talking out of both sides of his fanged mouth. 

Jeanette sighed. "Do not look so put out, ma petite. I learned very little from Luther and David. It was nothing I couldn't have gleaned by observing you in person for any length of time. They are both quite loyal to you. It is as admirable as it is aggravating." 

"Why are you so eager to learn about me, huh?" 

Jeanette smiled that secret smile and placed her rouged lips delicately on the rim of her glass. She sipped. I waited. 

"Know thy enemy. Isn't that the proverb?" 

"Is that what we are?" I asked, plucking my own glass from the counter. I swirled the contents, not quite sure if it was truly alcohol-free as she claimed. Probably not a viable concern in a dream state but still...

I set it back on the counter.

Jeanette's smile became something more genuine and a dimple popped in one cheek. It was somehow...cute. God, when had I started thinking of her this way? She wasn't a docile little kitten. She was a dangerous, bloodthirsty vampire. I should treat her as such. 

"We don't have to be."

She took my wrist in her soft, long-fingered hand. I flinched at the temperature. She was cold, icier even than she'd been in the caves. She hadn't fed in some time. Why? Jeanette ran her thumb over the slightly upraised vein, putting the pad of it over the throbbing pulse point. She stared at the winding blue map of veins in my wrist. 

"My eyes are up here," I snapped, uneasy with the way she was eyeing me. 

Jeanette jerked her eyes up to meet mine after a moment more. 

"Désolé. You make me forget myself, ma petite." 

"Oh now that's total horseshit and we both know it. You can quit the flirtatious act, Davenay. What are you really after? Why are you in my dream?" 

"I told you, I want to help you," 

I leaned forward, resting on the edge of my stool so that I could thrust my face near hers. She barely flinched. 

"But why? Why help me? Why the marks? Why any of this?" 

Jeanette averted her eyes, flicking her gaze behind us. I shifted slightly on my stool, grudgingly turning to take in the rest of the room.

A wide, flat expanse had been cleared in the middle of the room, slightly lower than the raised portions of floor where the bar and a small lounge area stood. The floor was dark hardwood that appeared black under the neon lights. It had been buffed to a shine. 

"Dance with me, ma petite, and I'll answer your questions." 

A short laugh escaped me. "You can't be serious." 

"Deadly," she said with a wry little smile. "I've shared many a clandestine secret during a waltz or tango. Indulge me, love. Nostalgia is such a comfort, is it not?" 

My eyes narrowed. "I'm not your love, Davenay. I thought I told you to stop flirting. I don't like liars." 

She leaned forward then, sliding off her barstool, drawing herself up to her full height so that she was standing a head taller than me. One step forward and we were touching, pressed together chest to chest. She leaned down a little, so her cool breath feathered over my face. I expected it to smell like copper pennies and the foul reek of new death, but there was only the vaguely sweet scent of the blackberries. 

"Who says it's a lie?" 

She raised a hand, slowly, gingerly, anticipating a rebuff. I should have pushed her away, but I felt muddled, almost drunk by her nearness. Hadn't she promised I'd be immune to her after taking the mark? When I didn't immediately bat her hand away, she stroked her icy fingers over the line of my jaw, then skimmed my lips. 

"You are beautiful, Anita Blake. It would be an honor to call you my lover." 

Denial screamed through me, and I was able to free myself of her gaze at last. I couldn't believe that. Curtis had called me beautiful as well, but he'd been the exception, not the rule. I'd been too chubby in junior high and the beginning of high school to attract anyone but the most desperate. Even when I'd lost the weight, no one but Clayton Snyder and his toadies had approached. 

I'd been a pale, frizzy-haired pseudo-goth, and even then, I hadn't had the patience to fully commit to my teenage rebellion. And now? I was bulky with muscle and scarred enough to trade comparisons with Antonio Montana.

"Bullshit," I said quietly but with feeling. "Stop lying to me and give me answers, damn it." 

She only smiled once more, this time flashing teeth. One dainty fang showed, a hint of danger, like a thorn hidden beneath the rose petal lips. She extended one pale hand to me.

"Dance with me and you'll have them."

I stared at her hand. This was my dream. Maybe I could turn my back on her and will myself awake, but in doing so, I could lose potential information. If this dream was real, that was. It was all so damn confusing. I had to say I preferred it to the nightmarish scenarios I'd been anticipating. 

With a sigh, I slid my hand into hers. She pulled me up easily, guiding me toward the dance floor, grip firm as though she expected me to bolt. 

Only when she pulled me under the neon lights did I really get a look at my getup. I'd half expected her to put me in a flowing dress, like the one she wore. Clearly this scenario was more hers than mine because I'd never seen this locale. Probably one of her businesses. It wasn't Iniquity or Paramour. Perhaps Danse Macabre? 

She'd stuffed me in something worthy of a 1920's mobster. White shirt with a starched collar, a pinstripe vest, suspenders, and dress slacks that matched the vest. I was shocked I wasn't wearing a fedora or panama. I was even wearing a gun holster, though it was fairly useless without my Browning. 

I snorted. "You're just humoring me now. Trying to make me the man?" 

Jeanette smirked. "Would you prefer an evening gown, ma petite?" 

"No." 

She stepped closer to me, twining our fingers together, guiding one of my hands to her back, resting it on a bird-like shoulder blade. It felt wrong, somehow. Though taller than me, she was not broad the way Curtis had been. There was almost no muscle tone beneath the dress. If I moved my hand down just a little, I could probably have counted her ribs one by one, the way grandpa had when I was a kid. She was slim and fragile. I got the impression that at this range, I could snap her in half with minimal effort. 

"Do you know how to waltz, ma petite?" 

"No," I admitted. "I tried to learn before the wedding but I barely mastered the box step." 

"Then I suppose I shall have to lead."

And in a move almost too fast to track, she'd moved my hand, resting her slim delicate fingers gingerly on my shoulder instead, pressing me closer to her. Then we began to move, slowly at first, then with more speed. We spun lazily as Frankie Valli's Can't Take My Eyes Off of You began to play. The effort it took to not roll my eyes at that little bit of melodrama was painful. 

We were on our third revolution before I press the issue again. 

"Talk, Jeanette. What's this about? Somehow I can't figure your motives are as pure as the driven snow." 

I couldn't see her face, as she'd tucked me close so that most of my view was hidden by her shoulder. 

"You are right," she said slowly. "But...I do not do this to torment you, Anita. I had not the courage to approach you before. Yes, I seized upon the opportunity that presented itself. You have a reputation for helping people. I need help." 

I craned my neck to look at her, though it was difficult to do in our current pose. Her face was smooth and unreadable, betraying nothing. It was frustrating as hell. I couldn't tell if she was lying or not.

"With what? You've got more money than Croesus, right? Why don't you just buy your way out of trouble?" 

"It is Nikolaos, ma petite. I am trapped. Saint Louis is a prison and Nikolaos is my jailer." 

My steps stuttered and Jeanette had to drag me through a few more steps before the words really sunk in. Trapped? How the fuck did that work? I knew blood-oathing stole a fraction of a vampire's free will, making them beholden to their master, but somehow I didn't think that was what she was talking about. 

"I don't understand." 

Jeanette's pacing slowed, and her mask finally cracked, allowing me a brief glimpse at what lay beneath. She looked exhausted, her eyes far away and haunted. She dragged her lower lip between her teeth, worrying the skin until it bled. Her chin even quivered. This close I could feel the tremor that rocked her. 

"My maker, Belle Morte, she...she sent me here as punishment for a slight I dealt her. I am Nikolaos' plaything. Her food when she hungers for terror. I am allowed to front the legal venues and...am the main attraction in the illegal ones." 

My ears perked up at the last tidbit. If there was shady shit going on behind the scenes, it might allow me to get a warrant of execution. Nikolaos couldn't blackmail me if she was dead. 

Guilt tripped along after the excitement. Fuck, I should not be celebrating the exploitation of this woman. It shouldn't matter that she was a vampire. She'd been a person once. Monster or not, human or not, no one deserved to be used. Still, I couldn't help myself or her if I was too squeamish to ask. 

"Illegal ventures?" 

Jeanette licked away the blood that smeared her mouth like lipstick. Maybe it should have sickened me, but it looked more like a nervous gesture than anything else. Her words came slower still, so quiet I strained to hear her over the music. 

"She...sells me, ma petite. I am encouraged to...seduce. Barter my body for favors." 

Prostitution. Jesus. I was on the fence about how I felt about sex work. But this? This she was clearly being forced into, either by tacit threat or obligation to her master, which made it rape. I suddenly felt a little ill. On some level, I thought most women understood the terror of it. The ever-present threat, the all-too-common downplaying of the experience. Though I'd faced greater horrors than the quarterback of my high school football team, I could still remember the echo of his hands on me. 

I hugged her a little tighter. I couldn't help it. Anyone who had no empathy for this sort of horror was a monster, plain and simple. I wasn't a monster. Or at least, not _that_ sort of monster. 

"Give me client names, Jeanette. Proof that I can take to the police."

We'd stopped completely now. She shook her head, seeming to withdraw into herself. I wanted to shake her. She couldn't back down now. Not when I was so close to my ticket out. 

"The details are hidden in a safe. I know not where and I cannot search. She has me locked away." 

She pushed closer, forcing me back, step by step until we collided with a wall. The impact knocked the wind from me and she pressed so close I couldn't draw in a breath. Her hands tightened around me, grip strong as iron. Panic welled inside me and I bucked, trying to throw her off. I might as well have been shoving at a boulder. How was so much strength shoved into that waifish figure? 

"Help me, Anita," she murmured, bending close. Her breath fanned over my skin before she pressed her frigid lips to my throat. It was a light, open-mouthed kiss. It might have been pleasant, if not for the hard brush of fangs that followed. 

"No," I breathed. "Jeanette, no!" 

"I must, ma petite."

Then her fangs sank into my throat.

The first sickening jolt of pain sent icy shards of terror through me. It reminded me of the shock of sticking myself with Grandma Flores' sewing needles during the fruitless lessons she'd tried to give me. The unexpected sharpness of it had made my stomach roll then too. She buried fangs deep within me, and I prayed to whatever God was out there to give me the strength not to scream. 

It was different than when Valentine or any of the others had tried this. More like the bite of a dog, ripping and tearing, trying to take a chunk out of me. It had been a struggle, a heart-pounding, life-or-death struggle. Me or them. 

This was a special sort of horror, because right on the heels of the pain came a wave of molten pleasure. Things clenched low in my body as she drew out the first pull of blood. Something warm and heady was running through my veins. The tension in my body ratcheted up a notch and I clung to her, my breath coming in heaving gasps. 

"Stop," I panted. "Do not...do not roll me, Jeanette." 

If she forced an orgasm on me, I really would scream. It was too much like rape. 

She paused, and the pleasure abated just enough to let me think. It was my dream, even if she had commandeered it. That had to mean I had some sort of control. Closing my eyes, I tried to conjure up the image of Curtis' cross, with its familiar contours, the weight of it in my hand when he'd gifted it to me. I pulled at its chain, dragged it into being, curled my fingers around it, and smiled when it pressed into my palm. 

It made a satisfying sizzling sound when I pressed it into the long column of her throat. 

Jeanette hissed, drawing away from me at once, the sound trickling through her teeth. They dripped with fresh blood. I smelled old pennies, and my stomach rolled again. All pretense of humanity fled her face. Her bones stood out sharply, the skin seeming to shrink back against them, as all color leached from her. Where her eyes should have been there was only flame, a blue so dark it bordered on black. 

This cadaverous face showed her true nature. She was undead. Not human. A monster. 

"Find me," she hissed. Her voice was eerily resonant. 

"We'll see," I hissed right back. So much for being allies. Friends didn't maul friends. 

I lifted the cross, brandishing it at her, its glow like white fire, eating at the dreamscape. The room dissolved around me, the lurid colors melting like cotton candy left out in the rain. 

Jeanette faded last. Her eyes bored holes into my face. 

"Find me," she insisted. 

Then she was gone and I was bolting upright in bed. My neck still throbbed, though there were no marks besides the scars already there. I scowled. 

Fucking vampires. Couldn't escape them even in dreams. The dream told me next to nothing. I had more questions than answers. 

Hoo-fucking-ray. 

Light slanted through the blinds. My alarm clock proudly proclaimed the obscene hour. Six-thirty in the morning. Blech. 

I was tempted to roll over and bury my face in my pillow. I'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, and I was unlikely to get more in the foreseeable future. I had raisings scheduled for the night. I needed to consult Bert for details pertinent to RPIT's case. I had an ID on the zombie, but not the animator. I had an idea that a vampire had employed said animator, but no clue who had a vendetta against me. I also needed to cram in a meeting with Ronnie. I had a feeling she could help, or at the very least let me sort through the events of the last twenty-four hours. 

Oh, and there was my "date" with Edward and Jeanette's informant at Dead Dave's. Because a sociopathic hitman and a vampire flunky could only add spice to the day. 

Fun, fun, fun, till Daddy takes the T-Bird away. 

With a groan, I pushed back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. 

Time to get to work.


	12. Chapter 12

Protesters swarmed Animators Inc. like angry bees complete with droning sound and a hive-mind. 

I sighed as I pulled my jeep into my reserved parking spot and clambered out. Without fail, there were always a few. You'd think it'd be exhausting to stand outside a building day after day, night after night, but apparently not. They were as faithful as the postal service. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night budged the animal rights activists that picketed Animators Inc. 

Today they were really out in force. A quick headcount put the number at least twenty. What fresh hell was this?

I hiked the small backpack I'd brought up on one shoulder, ready to swing it out of reach if any of their clawing hands made a bid for it. I had a change of clothes, some of my weapons, and a few of Grandma Blake's "toys" stuffed into the bottom. I was fairly sure that an accidental discharge was unlikely, but misfires happened, and I didn't want some hapless protestor dead on my watch, no matter how irritating I found them. 

They were perched on the sidewalk, and as close as Missouri law would allow them to be. Most of them were swallowed by the shadow of the building. It had once been a law office, but a hefty sum from Bert had given us the run of the building and permission from the owner to remodel. From the front, it looked like any standard office building. A few stories tall, built from brick, with a solid institutional air to it and a sign outside that read, 'Animators Incorporated' in big gold-plated letters. 

No one said Bert was a subtle man. 

The back of the office buildings had been torn out and a greenhouse had been attached. Most (though not all) of the animators at Animators Inc had been taught to raise zombies by a Vodou Priest or Priestess and required a salve to open the senses and aid them in the ritual. We had a handful of odd ducks. Matteo Valdez was such a devout believer he honest-to-God called upon the power of Christ to raise the dead. And...it worked. No one was sure if it was his belief or divine power, but it raised corpses. He was one of the better animators in the firm.

There was also a staunch atheist, Macie Robbles, who believed her ability was purely energy and could be explained, but science had caught up to it yet. I thought that excuse was a little dodgy, but I'd never fought her on it. Lord knew I didn't have time for a theological debate. 

One corner of the greenhouse was taken up by pens for the chickens and goats we kept on hand. The manure left over by the animals was composted and then used to grow more plants. It saved money and resulted in minimal waste, just the way Bert liked things. Bert liked both his budgets and his women trim. 

It was the goats and chickens the animal rights activists would be after. I couldn't actually blame them for being angry. It did ultimately seem pointless. Animals lost their lives, and the people the zombies had once been were no less dead. Depending on the strength, animators could keep them going for a while, but they were still dead. They'd still rot. Even Valdez's power couldn't resurrect, provided by the divine or not. He wasn't God. 

Still, the animals used in raisings were treated better than they would be in a factory farm, which was where most of them had been headed. Some of the more moderate groups considered it a mercy that we rescued and gave the animals cruelty-free lives up until the final moment. Bert had made it a point of taking in as many of these cases as he could, for publicity's sake, and had done an exposé about the entire process. We sedated the sacrifices before death. It was all very humane. 

But obviously not everyone thought so.

I walked slowly, contemplating whether or not I should try to sneak in the side or back entrance. I didn't have the key to either one, but I _did_ have a lockpicking set in my bag. I actually owned two sets now, one gifted to me by my grandmother at age twelve, and the other by Edward last Christmas, which was my favorite present next to the bazooka he'd given me. Completely illegal, so it was kept safely hidden, but it had saved my life when we'd come face to face with a vampire whose animal to call had been a weregorilla. Edward and I had been backed into a fucking bomb shelter and the thing had taken it apart stone by stone.

Before I could make the decision though, one of the protesters spotted me waffling near the car. It didn't take much to deduce that I was an employee since my name was on the reserved parking sign. She stepped off the sidewalk and stalked toward me. As the shadows melted off of her, I got more detail than 'female and short.' 

She was at least three inches shorter than me, which put her under five feet. At least two inches of her height was added by wedge sandals, so she must be even shorter still. It would probably have been adorable if she weren't scowling so hard. It carved deep furrows into her pale face. The red hair, arranged in a short, spiky pixie cut only added to the impression of bristling anger. Her green eyes were narrowed and all that fury was fixed on me. 

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" she hissed at me. 

"I get that a lot," I drawled. "And I'm sure you'll tell me why."

She rocked back a step, the sign she'd been holding swinging to her side. Some of her anger was replaced by puzzlement, as though I wasn't reacting the way she'd expected. Maybe some of the animators she'd faced had tried to deny it or had bought into the guilt trip. The brief reprieve allowed me to get a better look at her. She probably wasn't much more than sixteen or seventeen. Here with her mom or college-aged sibling, maybe? Or maybe she was just precocious. Some people found their causes early.

She was wearing a tie-dye shirt that read 'Love is Love' on the front. Her jeans had been patched in places, and one of them read 'Rachel is Rad' in delicately stitched print. So my parents' slang was back in vogue. Ah nostalgia. I didn't fault the girl the tee. At least I could agree with it. You couldn't help who you loved. Period. The sentiment on her sign? Not so much.

Rachel recovered herself and straightened a little, trying to compensate for her height with attitude. Again, I sympathized. 

"You're a murderer," she said. 

"Many times over. It's sort of what vampire slayers do. Your point?" 

Rachel was stunned into silence again, though this time she didn't take as long to compose a response. 

"The point is they're all living beings!" she said, real passion in her voice. One of the animators in the firm, Jamison, talked like that too. Like vampires were exactly the same as humans. I knew better. 

"And yet you're carrying that sign," I mused, glancing pointedly down at the sign that hung loosely in one hand. 

The sign was pretty simple, in itself. Cardboard, probably ripped from a box the night before. Plastered on the front was a picture of a dark-haired woman, a long braid trailing over one shoulder. She had a round face and dark, almond-shaped eyes. Her nose was a little crooked, broken during a protest no doubt. Her lips were thin, pursed in distaste as she stared at the camera. The letters above the picture read 'Solidarity with Summer.'

Rachel's jaw set stubbornly and her green eyes grew somewhat colder. 

"Yes," she said tersely. "And?" 

"Summer Fox is a terrorist." 

"She's a hero," Rachel argued. 

I quirked a brow at her. We were attracting attention now, both from the protesters and one of the daytime staff. I caught a flash of a pale face in one of the windows that faced the lot before the occupant withdrew. None of the others approached though, which was promising. 

"Tell that to Sebastian Watts, Reece Cunningham, Beau Owens, and Arthur Ward," I said coolly. "I'm sure their families take comfort in knowing their children's deaths were for a good cause." 

Rachel flinched. Good. It meant there was still a conscience in there somewhere that knew, deep down, how wrong it had been. 

A year and a half ago, Summer Fox had effectively ground factory farming to a halt in Oklahoma. She was a born witch and an incredibly powerful one at that. During the process of writing her dissertation, she'd come across an older, barely translated Russian text that referenced a quick and easy way to create a flesh-eating zombie. A poor family had scavenged a chicken that had been used in a ritual. Raised as zombies, they were insatiable killing machines. 

Summer and her devotees had broken into a factory farm overnight and had spelled every single animal that had already been slaughtered. Of course, none of the animators had known until it was too late. Four college students that had been killed in a drunk driving accident had been raised so that the parents could say goodbye. 

Sebastian had mauled his own sister, though she'd thankfully survived. She was missing an arm though, as gangrene had claimed most of the shoulder in the end. Human bites could really fuck a person up, doubly so if their corpse had been sitting a bit before the bite occurred. His fraternity brothers had run amok in Tulsa and had killed a whopping seventeen people before the cops had been able to blow them into pieces and burn the bodies. 

The aftermath had stretched beyond the casualties. Because of the public panic, all meat products had been recalled and the farms shut down. It was forbidden to animate anyone in the state of Oklahoma from that point on. A win for Summer Fox, it would seem. Until she'd been found and charged six months later. Her court case was still ongoing, and if she was found guilty, she'd face the death penalty for magical malfeasance. But there was conveniently no security footage to prove the act was done, and magic was hard to prove in court. 

Unless, of course, they, like Nikolaos, had irrefutable proof in the form of pictures of the act. 

I was so done with this conversation. I needed answers and I needed them before sundown. 

"Get out of my way, Rachel," I said softly. "I don't want to hurt you." 

She didn't back away. Didn't even blink. She didn't believe I'd hurt her. Oh to be so unworldly again.

"You'll be up on assault charges," she whispered. 

"Maybe. Do you really want to risk it?" 

There was a long, tense silence before Rachel stepped away from me, angling her body just enough to let me move past her. Goody. Tackling a teenager just seemed a little below my dignity. 

I all but ran for the front doors, aiming to avoid any of the other protesters. Rachel had been smart, but it was statistically impossible that there wasn't at least one idiot in the group. 

Stepping into the interior of the office was like being doused in cold water. Bert kept the interior of the office at a frosty 58 degrees Fahrenheit because he ran warm. The rest of us were just shit out of luck, because the thermostat was conveniently located in his office. I usually compensated by wearing long sleeves. Not today though, when I'd be all over the city, trying to chase answers. 

An involuntary shiver ran through me and gooseflesh popped all along my bare arms. I gritted my teeth to keep them from chattering and half-jogged down the hallway. The main reception area wasn't far. 

A Ficus biennium and a slender willow with small, dark leaves flanked the entryway. There was another, a Dracaena marginta as it said on the tag around the trunk, pushed into another corner, near a row of seats. The reception area was painted pea green. Bert thought it was warm and soothing. I thought it looked vaguely like vomit. I preferred the blue of my office. 

We did double duty in the offices these days. The day shift was composed of our investigators, those poor saps who had to do all the grueling work of vetting clients and ensuring there'd be no complications with the raisings. Then there were the mediums and the firm. They were a more recent addition and, again, heavily vetted. Many mediums had next to no talent. Some could only sense ghosts, but not see or communicate with them. A rare handful could do both and had enough power to make them obey commands. 

Maysie Melton and her brother Parker were the star attractions during the daytime. Bert made money hand over fist charging the wealthy or desperate for ghost banishment. I wasn't sure how many of the buildings they entered were genuinely haunted, but it certainly couldn't be every case. Bert was currently negotiating the rights to a ghost hunting show starring the Melton twins. I prayed to God it never got off the ground. We didn't need that sort of attention. 

The day secretary, Mary, startled when I strode into view. She was about my height, with short hair that didn't move an inch, even when she was in motion. Her use of Aquanet was more recreational than mine. She was in the middle of adjusting the pictures on her desk as I came in. Her sons are grown now, and she's enjoying the flock of grandchildren they've produced.

"Oh! Anita, I didn't expect you in until five!"

"I had something come up. I need to talk to Bert and get some things from my office. Do you know who's in there right now?" 

"Jamison," she answered promptly. 

Fucking Jamison. Just the sound of his name left a sour taste in my mouth. To say that we were adversarial was an understatement. Much like Rachel of the oh-so-progressive vampire leanings, Jamison thought vampires were just regular folks with fangs. They were both wrong. The difference was that Jamison actually had an in with the vampires. He was a sort of liaison for the Church of Eternal Life, passing out the Kool-Aid left, right, and center. 

The Church of Eternal Life wasn't a religion per se. Hard to have a God and solid faith when it was so bad for a vampire's constitution. What they were was a cult that was rapidly going nationwide. The veneer of religion kept it safe under the First Amendment. They were vampire factories, churning out new undead every year. Some joined because they feared death. Most joined because it was trendy. 

_C'mon you pansy. All the cool kids are dead._ Peer pressure these days could be deadly. 

"Who's he talking to?" 

"A mother and son. The boy is thinking about joining." 

"Let me know when he's out," I said, then turned and walked away. 

If I stayed put, I'd seethe. If I seethed, I'd break something. Preferably Jamison's nose. I'd slip my favorite deprogrammer's card to the kid if I got the chance.

Bert's office was the largest and situated as far away from the greenhouse as he could get. His door was open, which meant he wasn't with a client at the moment. It was a rare occurrence. Bert never dallied, so I'd jump on the opportunity while I could.

He was on the phone when I strode in, and raised his head reluctantly from the memo pad he was currently jotting notes on. He had the receiver wedged between one broad shoulder and his ear. The shoulders were the first hint you got at his height if he was sitting down. He was very proportional that way. Big and broad, he was built along the same lines as Dolph, though about four inches shorter. Hard to be as tall as Dolph, so I didn't hold it against him. 

His hair was so white-blonde it almost glowed against his tanned skin. His eyes were the gray of a sullen cloud, and equally as stormy when he dragged his eyes up from his paperwork. He kept firm eye contact even as he finished the call and hung up the phone. 

"What the hell are you wearing, Blake?" he demanded, glaring at the tank top I wore. 

I glanced down at the shirt as well. It'd been the first thing I'd grabbed from the dryer, and by the time I realized what I'd donned (halfway through my drive here) I was too tired to give a shit. The top had fit once but apparently had shrunk in the wash recently. It rode up over the waistband of my jeans, effectively baring a good portion of my midriff. I was pretty sure that wasn't what Bert took exception to. 

It was roadrunner on a black background, with the caption 'Meep, Meep M*therF*ckers.' Another gift, this time given on the sly by my half-brother Josh. The kid was twelve, and shaping up to be just like me. 

I was sure Judith was _thrilled_ about that. 

"It doesn't matter, Bert." 

"The hell it doesn't," he argued, glaring at the bird on my chest as though it were personally giving him the finger. "It's completely unprofessional. What if someone saw? I won't have the reputation of this company impugned, Blake. I don't care how good you are."

"The only people who saw were the protesters and I think it's fairly low on their list of problems, Bert." 

"Still." 

"I need help on the murder case you sent my way last week." 

Bert sat up a little straighter, face finally giving me more than just anger. His lips curled just a little, deep satisfaction settling into the lines of his face. The bastard was going to gloat. He didn't know why I'd taken the case, but he scented more money if he could help me solve it. I cut him off before he could really get rolling. 

"It's an animator." 

Bert's smile froze in its tracks, then performed a full retreat. He went a little ashy beneath his boater's tan and his expression shuttered closed, giving me almost nothing. The reaction itself was enough. I'd shocked and upset him. 

"You're sure?" 

"Yes," I said, leaning my shoulder against the doorjamb. "There was a new corpse last night. A cemetery guard at Bellefontaine was found half-eaten. The marks on the ribs were made by human teeth." 

"There are other things it could have been," he argued. "Some ghouls-" 

"It's a zombie," I cut across him firmly. "A very good zombie. It could talk and think. I was contacted by the animator by phone. He or she was using voice distortion, so I couldn't tell who, but they as good as confessed it to me."

That was stretching the truth a little bit, but I didn't care. If a little white lie got me the information I needed to save lives, I thought God could forgive me for it.

Bert paled even further. His skin looked like someone had spread a thin layer of caramel over white cake. Maybe the food comparison was a little off. Maybe not. I got a little strange when I was tired. 

"One of ours?" he checked. 

"I'm not sure. I didn't feel them raise it, and I know the...flavor, of everyone's energy here. I want to say no, but..."

"You can't rule it out," he muttered. 

"Exactly. Which is why I'm going to check the schedules with Mary, to see who was animating in Bellefontaine in the last month or so. Often cemetery guards watch over the raisings, so I'll make inquiries of them as well. And just to cover all our bases, I'm going to have Manny go over the GPS records and see if any of our animators' zombies acted abnormally." 

"What do you need from me then, Blake?" 

"Names. Who is powerful enough to do this?"

He seemed to think about it, eyes going distant for a minute. 

"You, Larry, Matteo, John or Peter Burke, Manny, and Macie." 

Manny Rodriguez had been my teacher when I first started at Animators Inc. I hadn't needed much tutelage on that front, having beaten my abilities into submission courtesy of Grandma Flores' tough-love teaching style. He'd also been the one to teach me how to hunt vampires. After my grisly wedding showdown, I'd been an eager pupil. I owed Manny a lot and wasn't going to accuse him of murder until I had no other choice. 

I breathed a sigh of relief. Six names were a hell of a lot better than the fifteen animators, mediums, and investigators that worked at the firm. It still meant that six out of the eight capable were suspects but...

"I also need you to call The Resurrection Company and Élan Vital. One of their people might be in the area and could have raised the flesh-eater." 

He nodded. "I'm on it." 

I pushed off the doorjamb and made to leave. Bert called out to me before I could make it into the hall. 

"Anita?" 

I half-turned. "Yeah?" 

His eyes were stormy once more and his mouth was mashed into an angry line. 

"You find the bastard. Find him and make him pay." 

I smiled thinly. "That's the plan, Bert. That's the plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to shout out to a_sporking_rat, who also goes by Rodentfantic on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth. Their sporks have brought up a lot of things which I think a lot of former fans want to see or have problems with that I'm trying to address in this (and hopefully the others) fix-it fic. 
> 
> Most of the stuff regarding the animating business I can't necessarily take credit for. A regular commenter on the LJ is DWG, who made some excellent points. Some of it is my own or expounding on their ideas, but I wanted to give credit where it was due. Anyway, I hope you like it. :)


	13. Chapter 13

It took longer than it should have to sort through the schedules with Mary. 

Part of that was my own damn fault, of course. Mary had a few health scares recently, and her doctor was recommending less salt, fat, and stress in her life. It was one thing for her to know I was working on a murder case. It wasn't even an odd occurrence these days since Dolph had made me a regular consult. Everyone knew I was in the process of getting a PI License in order to better fulfill my role with RPIT. 

It was completely another to know that one of the animators she saw day in and day out could be said murderer. I wasn't sure her heart was up to that, so I'd been forced to do some verbal gymnastics to get around why I needed the records. I may have been a little terse, and I was fairly sure she thought she'd done something wrong by the end of our conversation. I'd need to get her a Hallmark card or something.

The process took long enough, in fact, that Jamison was through with his consult about the same time I came stalking down the hall. I'd been prepared to practice my lurking skills and hopefully get to spook him, just a little. 

Juvenile? You bet your ass. But in times like these, a girl had to get her kicks somehow. I had a laundry list of things to be concerned about and could use a good laugh. 

Alas, the universe had offered me snake eyes again. I wondered who or what I'd pissed off to warrant such shit luck. 

A woman stepped out first. She was probably somewhere between forty and fifty, just going by the feel of her...energy alone. Sometimes animators could get a read on living people's ages, as well as the undead. The body was dying, after all. Day by day, hour by hour, we all marched toward that inevitable end. I could have made a killing at the state fair. Probably unsporting of me, to let people play a rigged game. 

No one would have guessed the number just by looking at this woman, though. Blonde, but not pasty. Someone booked regular tanning appointments. She was in good shape, probably no more than a hundred and twenty pounds, which looked even more impressive stretched out over the 5'10 frame. She probably had the best damn legs in her graduating glass, the slender curve of them clearly visible under the suit pants she wore. Her sleeveless blouse was probably a color called burnished eggshell or champagne, a distinction that I'd only just learned from the grueling hours of dress shopping with Catherine. Personally, I'd have just called it off-white. 

Between the French tuck of the blouse, the diamond necklace that glinted at her throat, and the Rolex on her wrist, she screamed money. Question was, had she come from money, or married into it? Different types of entitlement, depending on the woman. 

She dragged pale eyes from the crown of my head to the tips of my Nike sneakers and her lip curled, just a little. She didn't outright sneer, too well-bred for such transparent snobbery. 

A young man emerged next and, despite the more graphic horror I'd suffered recently, I still flinched. He had to be eighteen to legally turn, but I doubted he was more than a few days past. He was fresh off the assembly line and still reeking of new car smell. So young. Too young to die. 

He looked a lot like his mother, but with a lot less attitude. He was gawky and actually stumbled over the lip of the office. Even if it was a little insulting, I couldn't help but draw a comparison to a puppy that hadn't grown into its paws. He'd never grow into them if something wasn't done. 

I had a card, somewhere in the bag. I stuffed a hand into one of the outside pockets and rummaged for a few seconds before withdrawing a (slightly crumpled) card for Raymond Fields, an excellent deprogrammer who specialized in vampire groups. The woman just stared at it when I held it out to her. 

"What is this?" she asked, tone too crisp to convey much annoyance, but it was the impression I got nonetheless. 

Maybe I was projecting? I sure as hell was irritated. 

"This man can explain to you some of the downsides of vampirism. He's good and he'll give you facts, unlike Jamison. You do know he gets a commission for every turning?" 

Jamison emerged at last, scowling at me. He had a conventionally attractive face when he wasn't frowning. A strong, squarish jaw, a perfectly straight and narrow nose, and green eyes that stood out startlingly against the darker shade of his skin. Jamison was biracial, taking more after his white mother than his black father, or so I'd been told. The extent of our communication tended to be arguments and curt greetings in the hallways as we traded shifts for the day. He'd recently dyed his short curls red, which was even more startling when paired with the eyes. Eyes that were currently boring a hole in the side of my face. 

The woman flicked her gaze to Jamison for a half-second, lips thinning. She said nothing to him, though, and resumed staring at me after the brief glance. 

"My son is turning," she said shortly. "That's final." 

"I think that's his decision," I said coolly. I had to stand on tiptoe to see the son sheltering behind her. She was so damn tall and he was skulking. "What do you want?" 

The kid said nothing, his eyes glued to the floor, as though he could spy a fascinating pattern in the carpet. 

"He doesn't have any choice," she said, taking a step closer, trying to use her height to intimidate me. It wouldn't work. Bert tried that shit all the time and his height and bulk were a lot more impressive. 

"There's always a choice." 

"He has pancreatic cancer," she said, definite anger creeping into her voice now. "Stage four. I'd rather be speaking to Mr. Clarke about a turning now than be consulting with you in a few months so I can say a proper goodbye, Miss...?" 

"Blake," Jamison supplied. "Anita Blake, our resident vampire executioner. Don't pay her any mind, Mrs. Franks. Anita's views on this subject are rather...extreme. I assure you your son will do just fine in the Church of Eternal Life. Malcolm is a good man. He'll take care of him." 

"He's something, alright, but I'm not sure if 'good man' applies. Part zealot, part televangelist. All con-man." 

I held the card out, pushing it at her a little more firmly. "Talk to Fields. You're looking for a miracle cure? You don't have to be a vampire to get it. It's a growing trend for war veterans that have had amputations to turn therian. It can take a while to regrow a limb, but it works. The therian virus can lick cancer, no problem." 

Color flushed high into her cheeks, the mask of arrogant bougie bitch slipping away entirely. You'd have thought I'd just asked her to shove her foot into a bucket of dog shit. 

"Have him become some sort of wolf or rat?" she demanded, voice shooting through two octaves as it came out. "They _eat_ people." 

I laughed. "So do vampires, Mrs. Franks. They just look better while doing it. As a wolf or a rat, your son could still go out in sunlight, have some sort of social life outside of the Church, and only worry about what he is once a month. Most therians stay far away from civilization during the shift. The only things in danger are deer. Vampires? They tend to do a lot worse. See these?" 

I lifted my arm so she could inspect the mounded scar tissue on my elbow, then pulled down the neck of my tank top so she could see the scars on my collarbone. Mrs. Franks paled, and her eyes kept flickering between the scars like she couldn't decide which was worse.

"I didn't get these from therians," I said.

Jamison stepped between us, sensing that he might be losing the nice lady to the naked facts of the situation. 

"You were trying to kill them, Blake. They defended themselves." 

My next laugh was a touch bitter. "Yeah, they're all just poor innocent lambs led to slaughter. The one who savaged my neck killed twenty-three people before the judge would give me the go-ahead to kill him. Your son would have been just his type, Mrs. Franks. He liked them with nice, round babyfaces. Boys, normally anywhere from twelve to sixteen, but he might have made an exception for-" 

"Enough!" Jamison hissed. 

He turned and grabbed Mrs. Franks' arm a little harder than necessary, pulling her down the hall away from me. She couldn't stop herself from glancing over her shoulder at me once or twice before they disappeared around the corner. Jamison was talking to her again, trying to reassure her, no doubt. I didn't pay much attention. 

The kid was still standing by me, staring after his mother with a bemused look on his face. His green shirt was rumpled from the many times he'd bunched his hands into it. His head was bowed, his shoulders hunched. He looked like a wilting daffodil. 

"What's your name?" I asked gently. I'd been meaning to shock some sense into the mother, not scare the kid.

"Joshua," he mumbled, finally glancing up at me. His eyes were a different shade of blue than his mother's. Royal blue. A little like Jeanette's. 

Ouch. The name hit like a punch to the chest. Josh. I'd need to talk to my kid brother on the phone if I survived all of this. Nothing like a little assurance to ease that sick feeling in your gut. 

He risked a glance at my face before skimming down the rest of my body. It didn't feel sexual, especially when he eyed all my visible scars. 

"Can I have the card?" he asked very quietly.

I fought a smile. Too much like bragging. Taking his hand, under the pretext of shaking it, I pressed Fields' card into his palm. 

"Good luck, Joshua." 

He nodded, then shoved his hands into his pockets, trudging down the hall to join his mother. I watched him until he disappeared around the corner as well. God, I really hoped he had the backbone to stand up to, or failing that, get around his mother. When he was finally gone, I pushed into my office. 

I was kneeling by one of my file cabinets when Jamison returned. He filled most of the narrow doorway, shaking with silent fury. 

"Spit it out, Jamison," I said finally. "Repressing emotion is bad for your heart, you know. I'd hate for you to burst an artery someday." 

"You had no right," he hissed. 

"No right to give them options?" I asked, glancing up from the filing system. Someone had rearranged everything again. Probably Mary, or the night secretary Craig. I never could keep up with what new policies we were implementing. 

"No right to undermine my authority, Blake. What the hell are you even doing here during the day? Your schedule says you don't have a raising until dusk." 

"Bert agreed to clear my schedule. We have a big problem and I have to fix it." 

Only after the words had slipped out did I really consider whether or not I should be telling Jamison. He hadn't been on Bert's list of potential animators. I didn't think he could have raised Curtis. Jamison's corpses were barely able to talk. He was a better salesperson for the Church of Eternal Life than an animator. He also liked vampires, so I didn't think he'd have helped murder any of them. Still...

"What problem? Bert doesn't clear schedules, Anita. He just doesn't."

I blew out a breath. Nothing for it. 

"Someone's raised a flesh-eater."

That really got his attention. Jamison stood up a little straighter and a flash of genuine horror crossed his face before he could conceal it. Good to know he was still human enough to be horrified by some things. 

"You're sure?" 

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have brought it to Bert. So if you'd kindly piss off, Jamison, I need to retrieve a few files. Where the hell did Mary put them?" 

Jamison sighed and stepped into the room. He came to kneel beside me, nudging me out of the way with his shoulder when I didn't immediately move. 

"Unlike some people I read the procedural emails. What are you looking for?" 

It was really tempting to knock him down and drag him out of the office, just so I wouldn't have to see the smug, superior look on his face when I confessed the truth. It was only the knowledge that I had a limited amount of time to get the bastard doing this that helped me swallow my pride. 

"The vampire murders." 

Jamison's head jerked up and he stared at me in naked and unflattering shock. 

"You took the money for the job? I told Bert you wouldn't. You hate vampires." 

"Yeah, well a girl's gotta eat," I mumbled. "Find the damn files, will you?" 

His eyes narrowed on the side of my face. I swore the spot just beneath my cheekbone was beginning to itch from the intensity of his scrutiny. 

"Bullshit. You didn't do this for the money." 

"No, I'm doing it for the people, Jamison. A human was found dead at the last scene, killed by the same person who's doing...whatever this sick ritual is. If this thing can kill the strongest vampires in Saint Louis, humans don't stand a chance against it." 

There, that sounded nice and reasonable. Maybe he'd drop it. 

"And you can, Blake?" 

Or maybe not. 

"I'm going to try. Give me the damn files." 

Jamison finally fished the folders from the file cabinet and pushed it closed. He offered them to me and I slid the whole stack into my backpack along with the clothes, weapons, and schedules that I'd managed to acquire from Mary. Manny wouldn't be in until later in the evening. Maybe I'd give him a call around dusk and have him email me the records. If he was really in a giving mood, perhaps I could get him to talk to the cemetery guards too. 

"You're going to stop these guys, right?" 

He sounded uncertain and the concern in those unguarded green eyes made my stomach roll. He really _did_ give a shit about the vampires. Part of me had always assumed the solicitous counselor act had been a front to get money. Jamison was a true believer in this mainstreaming crap, wasn't he? 

"Yeah," I said shortly, standing. My pack was heavy enough with the additions that it actually hurt to hold it on the crook of my elbow. I shifted it completely onto my back instead. "I'm going to get them." 

_Because I have to. The son of a bitch made it personal._

***

Ronnie had recently switched the location of her office from the District to Gravois Park. Due to the growing popularity of vampire businesses like Iniquity, Paramour, Danse Macabre, and others, the owner had substantially hiked the price on the office space she'd been renting. I wasn't sure how the presence of a bunch of bloodsuckers upped the property value, but it had. Ronnie had been forced to move. She made good money, but not that kind of money. 

Her new office had belonged to a now-defunct real estate agency. There were still some of the hallmarks of the place on the building. It was one story, with cheap white siding and a green striped awning over the glass double doors. Ronnie kept them locked and reinforced with new steel and silver infused shutters. There were shutters and bars on all the windows as well. A smart precaution when your clientele tended to be asking you to investigate things with fangs, claws, and nasty tempers. There was an unfamiliar car in the lot already, which meant she was probably seeing someone. 

I pressed the buzzer anyway. The guard she'd been forced to hire to watch the doors was more likely to let me in during daylight. 

"Veronica Sims' office," a gruff, gravelly voice grunted. 

My lips twitched, contemplating a smile. "Hi, Simon." 

There was a rustling sound from the other end of the line and then the voice was a lot clearer. He was leaning in close to the mic. 

"Anita! How the hell have you been?" 

"Not great. Any chance I can see your boss?"

"She's in a meeting. Can you wait?" 

"Yes, but could I wait inside, please? I'm melting out here." 

Simon laughed. "Of course, Anita. I'll be right there." 

A minute and a half later, Simon had arrived at the door and pulled up the shutters. He was cautious and used gloves every time. He was a therian, though it had taken me months of wheedling to get him to admit what flavor. I understood now why he'd been reluctant to tell. I'd laughed my ass off after he told me. 

Simon was a wereskunk. Maybe I should have guessed that, considering his hair. He shaved it mostly bald, except for the spiky mohawk right down the center. I'd thought the black with a white stripe had been a fashion choice, not genetics. Apparently wereskunks were a genetic strain, not an infected one. I believed him when he said it had been a curse on one of his ancestors years back. The family was large, so there was about six or seven hundred in the US and the numbers would continue to grow. Still, they were rare in comparison to other groups. 

He beamed down at me from the lofty height of 6'4, big gray eyes twinkling with laughter, as they seemed to do every time he saw me. He'd pushed back a pair of sunglasses to look at me.

"What's up there, shorty?"

I frowned. "I'm not short, Simon, just an inch below average. It's not my fault everyone in my life is freakishly tall." 

"Whatever short stuff," he said with a laugh. "Come in. Ronnie's talking to the Professor. She should be done in a little while." 

I followed him inside, waiting for him to secure the doors before I wandered too far. 

The interior of the room was made up of earth tones. The carpet was chocolate brown, the walls beige, the covers on the hanging lamps a light tan. The room looked a little orange to me, but that was probably the fluorescent lighting. Ronnie hadn't switched over the energy-efficient bulbs yet because they were so damn expensive. I leaned my weight against Simon's desk, careful not to knock over any of the pictures. He had eight or nine siblings. Wereskunks didn't really hold with birth control in any form, so once married they tended to have a lot of kids.

"Who's the professor?" 

"Louis Fane," Simon said, folding himself back into the swivel chair behind the desk. "Keep it hush-hush, but Ronnie's looking into the death of his sister at one of them halfway houses." 

I grimaced. That meant she'd been a shifter. For a while, it had been standard practice to funnel newly infected people into the care of the state in one of the so-called halfway houses. They were supposed to be a safe place to learn control of one's beast. Once you had a handle on things, you were supposed to be released. 

No one had been, to date. That alone had begun to spawn lawsuits. Further investigation had revealed mysterious deaths. Autopsies revealed overdoses every time. The amount of juice necessary to keep a therian down in animal form was incredible. The metabolism burned off most drugs too fast. Even the new, experimental drugs the FDA was now releasing weren't ideal. Therian surgeries had to be monitored closely. 

Women were dying more often than men. The handlers at the halfway houses clearly weren't modulating the doses for smaller body mass. 

"Working on evidence for a wrongful death suit?" I guessed. 

Simon dug a gummy from a glass dish hiding somewhere behind the pictures, flipped it into the air, and caught it with his teeth. He chewed thoughtfully and nodded. 

"I really hope she gets the sons of bitches," he muttered. 

"Me too," I said. And I really did mean it. Something needed to be done. 

It took another half hour for Ronnie to emerge, which put the time dangerously close to ten. I needed to be leaving for Dead Dave's within an hour or so in order to make it to my lunch "date" on time. I opened up one of the Psychology Today magazines on the small coffee table in the lobby as I sat to wait, but I couldn't force myself to read the article on constructing boundaries. I didn't have a problem with keeping people at a proper distance. My walls were iron-clad with padlocks and signs saying, "Keep out." 

Only a few people had the key to the padlocks or the strength to shove open the doors. Ronnie was one of those people. 

A short, slender man emerged from Ronnie's office at last. He looked like a stunted librarian. Black dress slacks, long-sleeved shirt, and a sweater vest. His dark hair was kept short and his dark eyes darted this way and that nervously like he was ready to bolt. Ronnie stepped out after him, towering over her guest. She was wearing heels today, which boosted her from 5'9 up to 6'0 even. She patted his shoulder. 

"I'll get back to you in a few weeks with news, I promise, Louie." 

He nodded, gave her a tight smile, and then turned to go. Only then did Ronnie notice I was sitting in her lobby. 

Her eyes widened in alarm. We normally didn't see each other during the day, except when we jogged together or were visiting each other in the hospital. 

"Anita? What are you doing here? Are you okay?" 

"Fine," I said before she could really start to panic. "At least, I'm not hurt. I needed to talk to you about a case. Do you mind if we go into your office?" 

Ronnie studied my face intently, trying to glean some sort of meaning from both the phrase and my expression. It reminded me uncomfortably of Judith's searching looks. Ronnie did look a little bit like her. Tall and blonde, with high cheekbones. Ronnie kept her hair shoulder length and back at all times, even sleeping, so far as I'd seen. Harder to grab that way. Her eyes were gray, not blue, her lips not as full as Judith's. 

"Sure," she said finally and stepped back to let me pass.

I set the magazine aside and pushed to my feet, brushing against her a little as I passed. She followed me inside and shut the door behind us both. I remained standing, rather than take one of the pleather chairs across from her desk, not speaking until Ronnie had settled into her chair. 

"What's up?" 

"I'm being blackmailed." 

To her credit, Ronnie didn't gasp or ask who just yet. She got to the pertinent questions first. Her demeanor shifted from concerned friend to detached professional. I could have kissed her for that. This was exactly the version of Ronnie Sims I needed right now. 

"What's the blackmail material and how did they get it?" 

I began to pace a line that was about two feet long. The office wasn't large and seemed even smaller with all the furniture stuffed inside. 

"I don't know how they got it. And the material is..." 

I hesitated. Ronnie wasn't a cop but she was damn close. She could turn me in. I hadn't shared what had happened with anyone for a reason.

"Anita?" she pressed. 

"They're photos of my wedding. Proof of magical malfeasance. I...I raised a handful of zombies from Cherith Cemetery to kill the goons that brought AK-47s with them. I handled the vampires myself but I wasn't armed and I couldn't...I wasn't strong enough to face the others while injured. Not while I tried to..." 

My voice faltered completely, throat closing off as I remembered. 

_Blood bubbled red against my fingertips as I tried to staunch the flow of it from his abdomen. There was so much glass in him._

_I'd lost track of him while the others rushed the wedding party. While I tried to find a weapon to end the undead bastards. Curtis had been hit by a shower of exploding stained glass from the gunfire. Jett Mayer had been kneeling over Curtis when I found him, shoving more into him, like a kid sticking needles into a doll. He'd licked his fingers clean and laughed every time._

_He'd stopped laughing when I thrust the broken balustrade through his back and out his front, obliterating his heart._

_He'd slumped forward on top of Curtis, driving the shards in deeper._

_I knew even before I shoved the dead vampire off of him that it was too late. So much blood. I tried to stem the flow anyway._

_Curtis tried to sit up, to cup my face. He left one bloody handprint on my cheek before he'd stopped breathing._

"Anita."  
Ronnie said my name gently, drawing me back to reality. "Anita, talk to me please." 

My eyes itched. Every fiber of my being was fighting against the urge to cry. I didn't like her seeing me like this. Neither one of us were crying sorts of gals, but when one of us cried, it was usually Ronnie. 

"I used zombies to rip them apart. Someone got a photo and now Nikolaos is blackmailing me into solving the murders." 

"And you need help?" she guessed. "With...solving it or killing her?" 

"Yes," I said, scrubbing at my eyes. 

Somehow the fact she wasn't overreacting made me want to cry more. Ronnie was proving that old adage true. If I'd turned up with Nikky's body and an ax, she'd have helped me bury the bitch no questions asked. I wasn't used to having friends that loyal.

"Alright, where do we start?" 

"We're going to meet a contact of mine at Dead Dave's. Another executioner, and one of the vampire's people. I know a woman on the inside and she'll help for a price." 

"What price?" 

"Safety." 

I'd leave it at that. I wasn't even sure how to unpack what was going on between Jeanette and I. It didn't make sense to me and I wouldn't know how to begin to explain it to Ronnie. 

"Okay then. Do you have any suspects? Any place we can start?" 

"It's an animator, and that's all I know. They called me last night." I swallowed painfully. "And they put Curtis on the phone." 

Ronnie blanched. "Jesus. Anita..." 

"I want to find this bastard, Ronnie," I whispered. "I want to find them and kill them, legally or not. If that's not okay with you, don't follow me out this door." 

In reply, she bent down, pulled her purse off the floor by her chair, and slung it over one shoulder. She stood and crossed to the door. She wasn't smiling, and there was something a little defiant in the set of her jaw that I liked. 

"What are we waiting for?"


	14. Chapter 14

Dead Dave's exterior was made of darkly stained walnut, with its windows deeply inset and decorated with beer signs. At night, they glowed through the dark glass like a patchwork of neon salesmanship. It was almost pretty, in its way. The light of day stripped away all the mystery of the place and left it like any other old-fashioned bar. 

Ronnie beat me to the door and held it open for me with a smirk. I scowled up at her, though I couldn't hold the petulant expression for long. It was a game we'd played for ages. Who held the door open for whom? The real answer was that we were both big girls and could open a damn door all by ourselves, but we still playfully argued over which of us could reach it first to make the gesture. Ronnie had the unfair advantage of freakishly long legs and almost always beat me. And here I thought I could take her in those heels. Of course, that meant I was stepping into potential danger first, which suited me just fine. 

I slung the pack off my shoulders and rummaged for the gun and holster. If I'd thought to bring a jacket I could have carried it concealed. For now, this would have to do. With one arm still in the pack, I stepped into the interior of the bar. 

Cold closed around me like an icy fist at once. Just like Animators Inc, Dead Dave's turned the air conditioning up full blast when the sticky summer days rolled around so that the interior felt like a freezer. I was really, really regretting not packing a jacket. 

The interior of the bar was dim and smelled like smoke. Not cigarette smoke these days, thank God. The deadliest thing in the bar now was Dead Dave himself, not the threat of cancer that hung heavy in the air. I was guessing that either Dave or Luther missed the aesthetic though because they exclusively burned candles called 'Bonfire Night' inside the bar. It was better than the scent of nicotine, so I didn't bitch. 

It took an uncomfortably long stretch for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. The bar was always so dark, even in daylight. Most bars I'd encountered were like that, though this one was dimmer than most. The inside of Dead Dave's was made of the same dark-stained walnut as the front and with only one window to shed light on the tables nearest the entrance, it was easy to be swallowed by the shadows. That always made me nervous, like something would come lunging out of them to bite or claw at me when I least expected it. 

Candle flames glowed like amber stars, the pinpricks my only guide in finding the occupied tables. It gave the whole place an old-world aesthetic, though the place hadn't been around for long. It was certainly younger than the Circus of the Damned, which had been unveiled in 1904, around the same time as the World's Fair. The Circus had been primarily a freak show back then, and appealed to the waning but still present fascination with horror and the occult that had marked the period. It had been a huge hit as a result and spawned several attractions in other cities hoping to capitalize on its success. Nothing had quite matched the Circus of the Damned, but a few had come close. 

A few businessmen had gathered at the only table with direct sunlight, poring over the contents of their manila folders, taking a working lunch. Unless they were packing heat beneath their expensive suits, the only threat they posed was a mean paper cut or two. The only other patron in sight was sitting at the bar, hunched over a scotch on the rocks. He already had the vacant look of the very drunk and wasn't slowing. I hoped Luther would cut him off before he slid off the bar stool and onto the floor. 

Luther was busy cleaning the bar, but raised a hand in greeting when he spotted me. Luther was a tall Black man and had one of the darkest complexions I'd seen in my life— which was saying quite a lot, given that the percentage of African-Americans in Saint Louis was damn near fifty percent now. He was heavy-set, but the fat was more solid than flab. Like Willie, he'd taken poorly to the no-smoking mandates and chewed toothpicks to splinters, counting the minutes until his break so he could find a quiet, secluded place to smoke. 

Ronnie and I nodded back to him and wandered further in, weaving through the tables until we could begin to make out the last few occupants. They were clustered around a square table at the very back of the bar in the darkest corner. The only reason I could pick much out at all was the candle pushed up against the napkin dispenser. As I drew closer, I could make out not the two shapes I'd been expecting, but three. 

Edward had his back to the wall, leaning back in his chair in a lazy, almost arrogant posture. His jacket slid back just enough that I could see the Sig holstered at his waist. He looked like a wild west gunslinger—minus the hat—ready to shoot now and ask questions never. Sitting next to him was a man with thick chestnut hair pulled into a tail that curled around one shoulder. He'd draped his jacket over the back of his chair, revealing a dark red sleeveless top beneath. It allowed a fair amount of hard muscular arms to be seen and admired. At least, most women might have savored the view. I was distracted by the thick scar tissue that clustered at his elbows and wrists. 

Phillip. So this was Jeanette's man. Trustworthy and reliable. I wasn't sure if I believed that. How could I trust a man so entangled with the vampires that he got a hard-on just from being bitten by one? 

The last occupant, sitting across from Edward and Phillip, was also a familiar face, though I'd barely glimpsed him for more than a few minutes. Those minutes had been enough to leave an impression. His dark hair was short, though just as thick as Phillips. He'd gelled it back to hide that there was some wave to it. His face could have been lifted from a chiseled Adonis in any museum, though he was darker than the almost bleached marble statues. He looked a lot like the photos I'd seen of my mother's older brother, Carlos, a fireman who'd died when the building collapsed on him. It had happened many years before I was born. I sort of wished I'd gotten a chance to know him. 

Rafael had draped an arm over the empty chair and craned his neck to look at us as we approached. His full lips stretched into a smile that would sucker punch any straight woman's libido. Even I felt a twinge of interest, though I was in the worst frame of mind after Curtis' call the night before. In silent moments, like the drive over, my mind had enough time to spin out blood-curdling scenarios of what the mysterious animator on the other end might have done to him before dawn. Curtis had a mind, even if the things done to him wouldn't necessarily be physically painful. He was aware enough to feel terror and the mind could be as easily broken as the body. 

It was why I'd tried to keep moving ever since. I didn't want to think about it. Not until I found the son of a bitch doing this and taking out every second of it on his worthless hide. 

"Is it cold in here, Anita, or are you just happy to see me?" Edward said, finally settling the chair legs down with a thump. 

I glanced down at myself and frowned. Despite the bra, the effect of the cold was still very obviously showing itself. I crossed my arms over my chest, though it was difficult. It mounded my breasts so high they almost touched my chin.

"I forgot a jacket," I grumbled. "Sue me." 

"You can have mine," Phillip said, reaching to remove the denim jacket from the back of his chair. 

He held it out to me. I eyed it, an obstinate rejection of all forms of chivalry demanding I refuse it. 

Grandma Blake had been my idol. A second-wave feminist and a tough-as-nails woman. She'd raised me for a year or so, while dad tried to pick up the broken pieces after mom's death. She'd told the frizzy-haired, slightly chubby little girl to never count on looks and a pretty smile to get what you wanted out of life. She'd been twenty-five when Grandpa Blake died, left with a three-year-old and an infant to care for. She'd gotten through and never remarried, though she could have. I'd seen photos. She'd been a blonde bombshell, even wearing cowboy boots slicked with mud and a shotgun slung over one shoulder. One of her favorite sayings was "Don't ever depend on a man to do things you're perfectly capable of doing yourself."

She was also a fan of common sense, and she'd have told me it was stupid to freeze my tits off when there were bigger fish to fry. So I reached out and took the jacket, mumbling my thanks. I didn't quite meet Phillip's eyes. Rude to show contempt for him when he was just trying to help. The jacket bagged off of me, even though he wasn't exceptionally large, as far as things went. Bert and Dolph were leagues bigger. Even Edward was taller. I guess Phillip had to buy a size up to accommodate his shoulder width. 

I sat in the empty chair next to Rafael while Ronnie pulled a chair from another table and seated herself at the head of ours. She turned it backward and straddled it like a detective in any noir film. It looked good because she had the legs to do it. Dead Dave's had high chairs and tables. If I'd tried, my legs would have dangled like a kid's. Not at all threatening.

"So," she said, glancing from one face to the next, scrutinizing them suspiciously. "Who are these jokers?" 

"That's Ted Forrester." I pointed at Edward, using his preferred name when he was meeting with those outside of the loop. "He's an executioner and a former bounty hunter. This is Phillip, a stripper at Iniquity, and the daytime contact for the vampire I told you about. And this is Rafael." 

I frowned at Rafael. "And I'm not quite sure why you're here. Did Jeanette send you as well?" 

He shook his head, smile dimming from breathtaking to mildly charming. 

"I'm here on behalf of my people, Ms. Blake." 

We hadn't spoken much in the Burgess-Price Building, so it surprised me a little when his voice came out rich and deep, but entirely free of accent. He sounded like he was raised in any suburb in Missouri. That could be exactly the case, I realized. A little prejudiced of me to expect him to come out sounding like he'd just immigrated in from Mexico. 

I abruptly felt like shit. I'd had people judge me in exactly the same way when they learned about my mother's side of the family. It wasn't easy to tell at first glance that I had mixed heritage but the first question I usually got after revealing it was, "Then why don't you speak Spanish?"

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

Rafael removed his arm from the back of my chair and rearranged it so that he had his elbows propped on the table instead. 

"I'm seeking freedom for my people, Ms. Blake. We're tired of living underneath Nikolaos' oppression."

I glanced from Rafael to Edward, wondering if I'd come in at the tail end of an unrelated conversation. Edward's expression was bland, betraying nothing. The half-smile on his lips was as much an affectation as the cowboy boots he wore and the persona of good ol' boy Ted he tried to portray around others (and sometimes even me).

Rafael's expression was expectant, as though I should have a knowing reply. 

"I guess I'm feeling a little slow today. Can we back up to the part where you explain what the hell you're talking about?" 

Rafael blinked once in surprise, frowned, and then looked at Phillip, who was fiddling with the tines of his fork. 

"She doesn't know? I thought you said she was some famous hunter. She should know, right?" 

"I guess not," Phillip muttered. "I would have thought Jeanette would have told her."

"Know what?" I asked, a touch testy now that they were talking about me, rather than to me. 

The pair exchanged a knowing glance. I was about five seconds from slapping one or both. 

Rafael spoke again, softer this time, as though he was afraid to speak as openly as he had before. 

"Nikolaos calls rats, Anita. All rats. I have been able to resist her call, but most of my brothers and sisters are not so fortunate. I protect who I can when I can, but I cannot be vigilant one hundred percent of the time. She's taking more and more of the Rodere and forcing them to bend to her will." 

We all fell silent as Luther chivved the one waiter over to our table. The young man looked barely out of high school and was as gangly and awkward as Joshua had been. If he'd had blonde hair instead of auburn, I'd have said they could have been brothers. I ordered a Coke and a cheeseburger with fries, and Ronnie ordered the same, hold the mustard. Edward ordered a beer, and Rafael and Phillip ordered ice water. 

The kid returned with the drinks in short order, smiling uncertainly at me. I didn't smile back and he eventually backed away from the table.

Once the waiter was gone I spoke again, lower, aware there were others who could be listening in to our little war council. 

"That's bullshit. All evidence points to the fact that even powerful vampires can only call the pure animal form if they can call animals at all. Only the exceptionally strong can bind wereanimals, and even then, it's one. Their animal to call. Or...therian servant? The terminology was always so muddled." 

Phillip was staring at me, a little pity in his gaze. I wanted to clock him. When the fuck did he get the idea he could condescend to me? 

"You've killed well over a hundred of them, but you know next to nothing," he muttered. "If you'd bothered to go even a layer past the propaganda, you'd know what we were talking about. Maybe the others are right. Maybe you _are_ just a state-sanctioned serial killer."

"Educate me then, if you know so much," I snapped. "I'd just _love_ to hear a junkie's insight on vampirism." 

Phillip flinched away from the venom in my voice and dropped his gaze back to his fork. I sensed the dull resentment rolling off him all the same. One of his hands was balled into a fist on his thigh, clenching and unclenching rapidly. Seemed like I wasn't the only one with the urge to hit something. 

"Now Anita," Edward drawled. "Let the nice men say what they're tryin' to say." 

Edward's poker face belonged in a Texas Hold 'Em game. He might have known exactly what they were talking about and laughing his ass of internally at this show of ignorance. Maybe he knew nothing but was willing to let me look like the idiot in order to learn. 

"I think what Anita is trying and failing to say is, can you explain it to us in the simplest terms, gentlemen?" Ronnie came to my rescue before I could start shouting. I gave her a grateful nod, chewing on my own tongue in an effort to avoid doing just that. I wanted to give a big old "fuck you" to Edward for letting me play the fool, and to Phillip and Rafael for treating me like one. 

Rafael cleared his throat and scooted a few inches away from me. I was sure my expression was nothing short of murderous. I swallowed a swig of Coke right along with every insult I was able to think of on short notice.

"What the public knows is an elaborate lie spun by the vampire council. When it became clear their previous methods weren't going to be able to keep up with industrialization and the resulting technological boom to follow, they approached Roosevelt and his contemporaries."

"Yeah, spare me the history lesson, I know. What exactly did they lie about?" 

"Everything, Anita. They lied about being able to call wereanimals. They lied about the extent of their rolling abilities. They especially lied about the power structure. The democratic process? Bullshit." 

"You can't fake that sort of thing on a grand scale. There's paperwork, government monitoring, journalists watching them at every turn. There's general elections, for God's sake." 

"In which only the paranormal constituents are able to vote. Do you think it's a coincidence that rats outnumber every other animal group three to one? The only ones who come close are the local Cackle of hyenas. And that's only because Narcissa likes to collect attractive and submissive men. No one in Nikolaos' Kiss calls hyenas, so there's no danger of a coup; at least in that regard." 

Our food arrived, but I found myself unable to do much more than stare at the sesame seed bun in abject horror as I really absorbed the meaning of what he'd said. 

The rigid feudal system had never gone away. It'd only been slathered with a fresh coat of paint and sold to us as something shiny and new. That meant that Nikolaos (and by extension every other Master of the City in the nation) were funneling in therians by the truckload to keep themselves in power. They might have even been purposefully infecting new people to keep the numbers up. She probably terrorized or blackmailed every non-blood-oathed vampire in the city into voting for her when the time came. 

"Fuck," I breathed. "She's enslaving you." 

"Yes," he said simply. "I'm doing all I can to stop it. I feel her call, Anita. I'm strong enough to resist, but most of the others aren't. I have to protect my people." 

"You're asking me to kill her." 

Rafael smiled a little. "I never said that." 

"Yeah, yeah. Plausible deniability. Tell me how to get to her. At least give me the daytime resting place." 

"I can't," he said with a frown. "The precise location is unknown to everyone but those who sleep there. I do know a few of the entrances to the cave network, but many are guarded, and those that aren't are booby-trapped." 

"Don't worry about us," Edward said with a grin. "We can handle the guards." 

"I don't like this," Phillip muttered. "She's going to kill anyone who gets in her way, Rafael, even the good ones. I don't want Robert, Mo, Willie, or any of the others getting hurt." 

I wasn't sure there was any such thing as a good vampire, and if there was, Willie didn't qualify as one of them. I didn't say it out loud, though. They were finally talking. 

"If you don't want to help Anita, why are you here?" Ronnie asked, setting her burger back on the plate. 

She'd eaten about half of it already. Mine lay woefully untouched on the plate. There was something sad about an uneaten cheeseburger and a soggy plate of fries. I just couldn't summon an appetite. I shoved the plate at Edward. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Edward tucked in, demolishing half the fries in under thirty seconds. 

Phillip still wasn't looking at any of us. His fist clenched and unclenched faster now, steady like the beat of a heart. He began to drum a tempo on his thigh with it. 

"Because I want Nikolaos gone as much as anyone else. I came to Saint Louis to get clean. A lot of the strippers at Iniquity started that way. It's sort of a joke between us now. We're the Lost Boys. She collects us and gives us the chance to be immortal. Jeanette got me off drugs, paid for dance classes, and gave me a job when I couldn't make it anywhere else, no matter how good my reference letters. No one overlooks these scars." 

"You invite them," I pointed out. "You're bitten every night on stage. You enjoy it." 

"The first ten weren't my idea. Valentine kidnapped me when I was twelve. He kept me for weeks. You killed him, so I'm sure you know what he did to me during." 

I was glad I'd given my burger away. If I'd had anything in my stomach, I'd have heaved it onto the table. 

To date, Valentine was one of the worst vampires I'd ever hunted. Most of my kills were routine morgue stakings, nothing to write home about. They'd all been convicted of felonies of one sort or the other. It was no different, in my mind at least than flipping the switch on the electric chair or pressing the button that delivered the lethal injection. I was their death sentence. Signed, sealed, and delivered on time. 

Valentine was different. Of the six serial cases that I'd invited in on, his had been the worst. As I'd told Mrs. Franks, Valentine had liked boys. Perhaps I was stretching his age of attraction a little. Even if Joshua had been the fifteen he looked, instead of the eighteen he truly was, he'd have only been on the cusp of what Valentine liked. The vampire rarely strayed past prepubescents. A pedophile, rather than an ephebophile. He liked to rape them first, leave them to either starve or freeze for a while, and then offer to take care of them. For a price. The cycle could continue for a week or two before he killed them. The cooling off period had become progressively shorter, which was what had finally allowed the carnage to grow serious and obvious enough that he couldn't escape notice.

He'd had dozens of kills to his name by the time the police had caught up to him. I suspected there were a whole hell of a lot more that were never found. You didn't grow that sort of pathology overnight. He'd had a hundred plus years to practice. There was probably a small army of mutilated boys scattered across all fifty states. 

I'd never met a survivor until now. I wanted to ask how the hell he'd escaped, but didn't. I probably didn't want to know. So all I said was, "I'm sorry." 

Phillip glanced up at me through thick lashes. God, he had beautiful eyes. I wondered why it had taken me so long to notice. Big and boyish, even now, with pain so raw it made me ache. 

"You don't mean that." 

"I do. I'm not a monster, Phillip. I'm sorry that happened to you. I wish..." 

Wished what? That I could have been there for him? He was around my age. A little older or a little younger, but not off by much. When I'd been around his age my father had been settling into life with Judith. I would have happily lived with Grandma Blake until high school ended, if dad had allowed it. I didn't want to be shoved into this new, shiny family he'd found. I didn't want Judith or Andria in our lives. I'd learned to tolerate, and eventually love Josh but it had taken time. 

Phillip had been raped or tortured. I was pretty sure that he would have happily swapped with me. In the competition of who had the shittiest deal, Phillip won hands down. 

"Wish what?" he asked. 

"That someone would have ended the son of a bitch sooner." 

The haunted look in those incredible eyes faded. He didn't smile, but I thought he liked me a little more in that moment. 

"I'm glad you feel that way. Nikolaos didn't. When Valentine found out you were on his trail, he petitioned to be included in her Kiss in exchange for protection. She agreed. You killed him before he had a chance to blood oath to her, thank Christ. But that was the breaking point for me. I knew I had to get out. Jeanette was going to help me. Now...this. She's gone and I can't find her. I want you to help her, Ms. Blake. I want to get the fuck out and she's my only hope of doing that. Once Nikolaos is gone, Jeanette is going to send me to a club in Vegas." 

It didn't seem like much of an improvement to me. Who's to say that the Master of Vegas was better than Nikolaos? 

Still, we all had a commonality. Edward needed to make the hit, I needed the blackmail destroyed, Phillip wanted revenge and a means of escape and Rafael wanted basic civil liberties. The simplest way to achieve all that? Kill Nikolaos. 

"Tell us where the entrances are, Rafael," I said. "Edward and I will take care of Nikky and her pals." 

Depending on where they were, I might even be able to bring police in. Breaches of zoning law felt like a silly way to snare the Master of the City but hey, Capone had gone to prison for tax evasion. If she resisted arrest? Bam. Justified homicide. As awful as it was, I might stage it that way no matter what. Immoral, certainly, but then this whole thing was. 

Rafael jerked his thumb at one of the posters on a nearby wall. The paper was patterned to look like a carnival big top with a fanged clown at its center. My spirits sank. Of course that was where it would be. 

"The easiest to access is the Circus of the Damned." 

"I'm guessing that's not on the tour," Ronnie remarked with a wry grin. "So how do we reach it?"

"I know someone," Phillip said. "Rafael and I have already arranged for you and your..." 

He threw an apprehensive glance sideways at Edward, who flicked another fry lazily into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed without breaking eye contact with the younger man. It should have looked silly, not menacing. Edward still managed to pull it off.

"Friend," Phillip said finally. "To meet Mo in a less conspicuous location. He'll get you a spare key card and this week's codes." 

"Alright. Where are we meeting him?" 

"A private residence. We'll be attending a freak party." 

"Fuck," I muttered. 

Phillip's eyes shone with the first hint of humor I'd seen from him since arriving. I let him have it, even if it was at my expense because it chased away the ghosts that had lingered there completely. It gave me a glimpse of what he might have truly been if Valentine hadn't fucked him up so badly.

"Sometimes. If you're really lucky." 

"Did I miss something?" Ronnie asked, glancing between us. Her lips were already twisting up into a more sincere grin, sensing I was the butt of a joke. 

It was easy to forget that Ronnie and I didn't run in precisely the same circles. Her job ended up the botched lovechild of an investigative journalist and bounty hunter. She fought if she had to, took supernatural clients when asked, but she wasn't embroiled in the lifestyle like the rest of us. Not an assassin or in with the monsters. She was probably happier for it. 

"Freaks are people who like being bitten or scarred by vampires and wereanimals. They get turned on by it."

Ronnie's lips parted in surprise. "So it's...uh..." 

"A preternatural orgy," Phillip finished with a grin. "So, which of you is my date?"


	15. Chapter 15

"I look ridiculous," I griped, staring down at the getup Ronnie had stuffed me into with mounting horror. 

Bad enough I'd been dragged on an hours-long shopping trip. Worse, because I'd been forced to go through the rigamarole of repeated changes. But this? She really expected me to go out in public wearing this monstrosity?

Ronnie was leaning all her weight against the wall, reclining on the pleather bench seat that faced the rows of changing rooms. She was smirking at me, clearly enjoying this. We weren't your average pair of women. We didn't shop together, we didn't generally gossip or talk about relationships, but occasionally Ronnie indulged. Always with Catherine, never with me. I was getting my comeuppance for all the missed trips. 

"You look hot, Anita." 

"I look like one of Andria's old Bratz dolls. In what world would I ever wear this?" 

I swept my hand down the length of my torso in a fast, agitated motion, decrying the outfit. The top, if it could even be called that, had only one long sleeve and left the other arm completely bare. I thought it was supposed to end at the navel, but with my breasts? It barely hit my ribs. The pants were no better. Black leather pants built for someone much taller than I was almost swallowed my sneakers whole. 

"So you can fit in? I thought you'd like this better than a bodycon dress."

"Where the hell am I supposed to stash a weapon, Ronnie?" 

"Wear the matching jacket." 

"I'll die of heatstroke."

"Want to try latex instead?" 

_"No."_

She laughed. "You should see the look on your face, Anita. It's priceless." 

"I want the last outfit we tried." 

The neckline plunged to my waist, which made me uncomfortable, but at least it covered almost everything else. The jeans were comfortable enough and I could even stomach the thigh-high boots, so long as it had a solid wedge heel. 

"You heard Phillip. Every attendee has scars. This ensemble shows off your bites. That makes it more convincing." 

"Will you be showing off yours as well?" I bit out waspishly. 

"I am, actually." 

She shrugged her jacket off so I could get a good look at the red tube top she wore. A crescent bite mark lay just above one breast. She'd gotten it during undercover work, posing as the preferred victim type of one of the serial rapists I'd tracked and killed. Neither of us had intended it. I was just grateful it hadn't been worse. We'd cleansed the wound with holy water afterward, even after he was confirmed dead. She said it hurt like a bitch. It looked convincing though. 

I sighed. "You take a picture of me in this and I will smash your phone. Understood?" 

Her smile was infuriatingly smug. "Understood." 

I could more than cover the expenses for both and kept the receipts as we left the store. I'd return the ridiculous fetishy clothing as soon as this charade was over. I'd bought a leather coat, in the end. In all likelihood, I'd need my Browning and the knee-length coat would allow for more weapons storage. Maybe I'd keep it, even if I returned the rest. 

Edward's car had better have some damn good air conditioning. 

We were halfway out the door when the muted strains of Radiohead's Creep drifted out of the front pocket of my bag. A chill ran up my spine, a pit forming in my stomach. Whatever he was calling about, I doubted I wanted to know.

I fished it out of the pocket after a moment of consideration. I needed to have all the facts, no matter how unpleasant. 

"What's up Zerbrowski?" I asked, not bothering with a greeting. No time for niceties. The shopping trip had taken hours, and it'd be the dusk when I reached Zerbrowski. The vampires would wake soon, and then the hunt for the murderer would be on. 

"We're at Bellefontaine cemetery. We need you here." 

"Another body? Vampire or human?" 

"It's a body...but not...it's not...oh hell. I shouldn't tell you this over the phone and you really shouldn't have to see it." 

"Tell me, Zerbrowski. I don't have time for guessing games." 

"We think it's Curtis. His grave has been exhumed and there are...bits near the hole. Dolph says we need to confirm if a ghoul did this or..something else." 

A trickle of sweat ran down my spine and pooled in the small of my back. I stopped dead in my tracks, gripping the phone for dear life, trying to keep a lid on the turbulent emotions swirling inside of me. 

_Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream._

Curtis, in bits. God, would they be animate when the sun went down? Was he still aware, even when he'd been taken apart like a jigsaw? 

This was my fault. It wasn't enough that I hadn't been able to save him once. He was suffering again because I'd pissed someone off. I had to see what had been done to him. I had to know. Maybe...maybe I'd be able to raise him again or wrench him away from the vampire's animator lackey if I had a large enough sacrifice. A goat? No, I'd probably need a cow for that. Where was I going to find one on short notice?

"I'm coming," I said, voice curiously void of inflection. 

Zerbrowski ended the call with a muttered apology and stuffed I the phone back in the bag, staring forward. I could feel Ronnie's stare on the side of my face. I didn't turn to acknowledge it. If I saw pity, I'd cry. If I cried, I gave the bastard some satisfaction. He probably had a servant or his animator pal watching me even now. 

"I've got work to do. I'll call Edward and he'll pick you up. We'll meet at the party." 

"Okay." 

She wasn't going to ask. Thank God. 

Mechanically, I reached into the coat pocket and withdrew the keys to my jeep. I had a half-hour to reach Zerbrowski and another hour after that before the freak party began. I wouldn't have time to try to raise Curtis at this rate. Goddamnit. 

"Antia?" Ronnie called. 

I craned my neck to look at her at last. She was perched on the edge of the sidewalk, watching me. There was no pity on her face, only concern. 

"Yeah?" 

"Be careful." 

My smile felt brittle but I offered it anyway. It was all I had to give at this point. 

"As careful as a virgin on her wedding night. Don't worry about me. I'll see you soon." 

***

The expensive mahogany casket had been left in splinters, scattered around the body like a dark, unholy halo. The silk lining had been shredded like so much tissue paper.

It was easier to detach than I could have ever dreamed. The body didn't look human any longer. Only slabs of meat left, like one could find at any butcher's shop. If I thought about it that way—just hunks of flesh, not the man I loved—I could rein in the horror.

Zerbrowski was peering at me over the rim of his spectacles, examining me closely as I knelt by the remains. 

"I'm so sorry, Anita. I wish you didn't have to do this. Dolph insisted. If you want to leave-" 

"I'm a big girl, Zerbrowski. I'll do my damn job. I don't need you to hold my hand." 

Okay, it came out a little harsh, but I couldn't deal with Zerbrowski's sincerity right now. I would have rather he cracked a joke or made a comment about the ridiculous outfit I wore. In any other circumstance, I was sure he'd have asked where I was going and who I'd be taking home later. Cheerfully lecherous, he never missed an opportunity to needle me. He was about the only person in my life who could consistently make me blush. 

I would have happily traded him for anyone else at this point. Dolph would be dispassionate, saving his condolences for later. From any other officer, it wouldn't have meant anything, just a useless platitude to spit out when they learned who the body was and what Curtis had been to me. 

Zerbrowski meant it, and the honest sentiment made the situation so much worse. 

I peered more closely at what remained of the body. The biggest piece remaining was the pelvis, which had been clawed all to hell, the genitalia missing, and most of the skin gone. It was impossible to tell ethnicity, height, anything from the spread of the hips. There were no bite marks, which meant it probably hadn't been a ghoul or another zombie. I could probably have left it at that. Dolph had his answer. It wasn't another flesh eater or a predatory monster come to ravage the much-beloved cemetery. Tourists were probably safe. 

I couldn't help myself. I had to know. Curtis had a pin in one hip. He'd needed surgery after being in a serious car accident in his freshman year of high school. Presumably it would be there. 

With one gloved hand, I felt along the edge of the bone, expecting to find the jut of metal against my fingertips. 

It never came. 

Frowning, I lifted the pelvis enough so I could see the opening in the pelvic inlet. A glimmer of hope presented itself, and I seized upon it while the waning light allowed. What I saw was so damn beautiful I could have cried. Instead, I half turned so I could smile at Zerbrowski.

"It's not him." 

Zerbrowski raised a skeptical brow. "How do you know?" 

"Curtis had a pin in his hip, and it's not there. Furthermore, this body isn't male." 

His brows scrunched together, carving deep lines in his forehead. "How can you be sure?" 

"The pelvic inlet. Men have a narrow heart shape. The inlet is wider in women and circular to allow for a baby's head to pass through. Add to that the difference in the sciatic notch and this body is definitely female." 

"So this isn't Curtis?" 

"Definitely not." 

I should probably have felt guilty for the sudden wellspring of joy that bubbled in my chest. This body had meant something to someone. I was sure she'd been dead, because of the lack of gore, but it wouldn't matter to the woman's family. She'd been desecrated, all so the sick fuck could torment me. 

The body had probably been torn apart by a shapeshifter. If the vampire could force a therian to do this, he or she had to be a Master. Maybe they'd just arrived, and that was why Nikolaos hadn't sensed and dealt with them herself. Or...perhaps they were in her number already. I'd call Ronnie and tell her I'd be late. I needed to run these new facts past Nikolaos.

"Well that's a relief," Zerbrowski said, adjusting his glasses. "Again, I'm sorry for dragging you down here, Anita. It looks like you had plans for the night." 

"I still do," I said. "But it's good you called. You can deliver these to Dolph." 

I crossed over to my bag and dug out the folders. After a moment's thought I also scrawled Manny's number across the front of the first folder with a pen I dug from the bottom. I slapped them into Zerbrowski's outstretched hand. 

"What are these?" 

"The records Dolph wanted. These are the names and schedules of the animators powerful enough to call and somewhat control a flesh-eater. It should give him everything. Background checks, basic bios, their schedules, etcetera. If Dolph calls the number on the front, Manny will tell him where all their zombies went via GPS tracking." 

Zerbrowski whistled. "Thorough, Blake. I'm impressed." 

"Oh you know I live to please." 

He grinned then. "Thanks, Blake. We owe you." 

"I'll remember that," I said with a smile of my own. "Are we done here?" 

"Yeah, I think we are. Thanks for coming down. You're good people, Anita." 

No, I wasn't. I was keeping a whole hell of a lot from him. Facts that could help the police solve the case faster and save more lives. At the cost of my own, of course. I was a selfish bitch. A selfish bitch that wanted to live to see tomorrow. 

"I'll keep you posted if I find something new," I lied. 

Then I turned on one heel and strode back the way I'd come, leaving Zerbrowski and the mutilated body literally and figuratively behind me. Only one fact mattered.

Curtis was still out here, undead. And I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or worse. 

All I knew was that this ended soon. I'd scour the city if I had to and I was going to stake him before dawn.


	16. Chapter 16

The Circus of the Damned was located in a huge, converted warehouse that spanned most of the block. Rumor had it that at least part of the place had once belonged to Rolfo Bartolomucci, a caporegime for the DiGiovanni Brothers; a pair of Sicilian Mafiosi who'd set up in Kansas City. They'd extended their reach into Saint Louis during the early days of prohibition.

The vampires allowed the DiGiovanni Brothers to run their bootlegged liquor through the Circus, even hosting a speakeasy or two in the harder to access areas. Maybe that was where Mo Cameron, the unpleasant vampire host at Iniquity had come from. Maybe he'd turned traitor and switched crime syndicates. Maybe that was why he'd ended up dead.

The sign atop the warehouse blazed with light and color. A pair of fanged clowns danced a jig atop the words "Circus of the Damned." The building itself had been painted with slanting red and yellow stripes that were meant to imitate a big top. The paint was chipping off, giving the whole thing a derelict appearance. Maybe that was the point.

Posters were plastered across the front, advertising everything from death-defying trapeze and tightrope acts to zombie raisings. An actual three-ring circus would be set up inside, and a dozen small tents would be arranged throughout so that tourists could mill around, paying to meet and take photos with some of the more well-known personalities. Between that and the concessions, they were making money hand over fist. 

It was lucky I'd called Nikky's office and set up a meeting. I was allowed to park in the back lot reserved for employees, rather than the packed front lot. People had begun to parallel park on the street just outside the Circus, clogging the lane on either side. 

Willie was waiting for me at the back entrance. The new hideous ensemble was a double-breasted blazer, a yellow and black checkered vest, and a pair of red dress pants. Where did one even find red dress pants, anyway? At this point, I was pretty sure he was fucking with me. Surely no one in the universe was _this_ tacky.

He flicked the butt of a cigarette to the ground and blew out a final stream of smoke as I approached. His shoulders were hunched, his head down like he was expecting a blow. 

"I'm not going to hurt you, Willie. I've got better things to do with my night." 

"I know. I heard." 

I frowned. "Phillip?" 

"The kid's got a good heart but he talks too much. Don't worry. I'm not a rat. I just want to keep my head down, if it's all the same to you." 

"Fine. Where's Nikolaos?" 

"Inside," he said, wrenching open the heavy metal door with one easy jerk. Vampires were always showoffs. "Be careful Antia. She's pissed." 

I paused just over the threshold. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy wafted to me on an artificial breeze, punching me right in the nostalgia. Aunt Mattie took Anrida, Josh, and I to the State Fair every year until I graduated high school. The Circus had a similar feel. Children's happy shrieks sounded from the family-friendly exhibits and the excitement crackled through the air so the entire place seemed to pulse with life. 

Industrial sized fans had been set up at the far corners of the warehouse, but even that couldn't keep up with the Missouri summer and the combined heat of so many bodies. I imagined it didn't matter to most of the patrons. It was a circus. It was supposed to be a little sticky. 

"What is she pissed about? She can't have expected me to have results so soon. It's been a day. Maybe less." 

"It's not that." 

"What then?" 

He muttered a curse. "I don't know, Anita. I just know she's pissed. Be careful. You may not believe me, but I _do_ like having you in one piece." 

I looked up at him then. Really looked at him in a way that I hadn't since he'd died. Jeanette had given me power and I didn't think that Willie was strong enough to overcome that. His eyes were the same red-brown shade I remembered them being in life. Warm like cinnamon. He'd had freckles to match once upon a time, but the transition had changed all that. 

He paused as well, a hand bracing the door frame behind me, the other still on the door handle. 

"So it's true. Jeanette made you her human servant." 

I took a step into the Circus at last, breathing in the buttery smell of popcorn from the nearest concessions stand to bolster my nerves.

"She put a mark on me to save my life, yeah. It doesn't make me anyone's servant." 

Willie closed the door behind us with a frown. "No, she's put two marks on you, Anita. You're immune to my gaze as well. That only comes with the second mark. Sometimes not until the third. Complete immunity to vampire wiles of any kind doesn't come until the fourth." 

Irritation rippled through me, beating back the growing sense of anxiety nicely. 

"How the fuck did she do that? What does that mean for me?" 

"I don't have all the details, Anita. I'm new and I'm never going to be a Master. From what I can tell though, it means she can talk to you either in your head or in your dreams. It also allows for energy transfer. From you to her and from her to you, depending on who needs it. Probably useful for her, since she's in a cross-wrapped coffin right now and can't feed." 

So that was why I'd been so damn tired. It was also why she'd turned up in my dream last night and why she'd fed on me. Son of a bitch. She'd done this deliberately. 

"What happens to her if she stays inside the coffin?" I wondered aloud. 

"She'll eventually go nuts in there if she doesn't turn into a living mummy first. I mean that alone could drive someone a little batty. Alive, awake, and aware of your body just withering..." He shuddered. "We're still somewhat human, Anita. Solitary confinement isn't good for us either. It's why Aubrey turned into such a bastard. He didn't come out the same from his time in the box. Nikolaos is punishing Jeanette for giving you immunity to vampire gaze. I didn't believe it until now. I never thought you'd agree to something like that."

"I didn't," I muttered. "But it doesn't matter now. I need to talk to little Miss Nikky post haste. I don't have time to quibble over what Jeanette did." 

I'd figure that out later. Surely there was someone out there that could sever the metaphysical ties that had been established between us. 

Willie shrugged one shoulder. "Fine. Your funeral, Nita." 

That earned him an "accidental" kick to the ankle as he took the lead. He grunted, stumbled a step, and then threw a poisonous look at me over one shoulder. I gave him my best angelic smile. It was dusty with neglect and probably looked more like a gargoyle's leer. Oh well. Willie didn't call me on it. 

He led me toward a ladder hidden in the shadowed corners of the warehouse. It was further hidden from the public by one of the huge fans. This one was red, blending into the painted background seamlessly, but for the whir of its enormous metal blades. It was taller than me and ruffled the loose curls around my temples, ears, and at the nape of my neck. Everyone had already seen my stakes-in-hair trick by now, so the effectiveness was lessened. I was still grateful they were there. Having weapons on my person made me feel better about facing Nikolaos. 

Marginally. And it was a very thin margin at that. 

Wille began to ascend and, if I squinted, I could make out the line of a catwalk just above us. I doubted the average tourist knew it was there at all. It was so near the top and handily hidden from the spotlights that it went unnoticed. I didn't have an abundance of choices at the moment, so I followed him up, even if the incredible height was threatening to give me vertigo. Unlike my fear of flying, this couldn't be solved with a sleep mask and an Ambien, though sleep sounded like a damn good idea right now. I'd have traded damn near anything to roll over tomorrow morning to discover the last week or so had been a horrible nightmare. 

Willie left me at the very top, climbing back down as soon as he possibly could. Lucky bastard. 

The catwalk was metal, not wood, but that didn't make me feel any better. In fact, the squares of light that shone through the metal grids that made up the damn thing made the vertigo worse. The multi-colored beams, the squeals, the laughter, the thunderous applause from beneath me rose in waves, overwhelming and only adding to the dizziness I experienced as I staggered forward. 

Nikolaos had situated herself on a stool in the very middle. Her legs swung off the side, kicking the air with her little slippered feet as though she could hurt it. Today's dress was white, a high waistline accentuated by a wide pink ribbon across the front. The small breasts were as mounded as they were going to get, but I doubted they'd even fill an A-Cup. 

There were laws about turning minors now. I'd heard there had been even before vampire law had been reformed to suit the American judicial system. What sick bastard had snatched her up and turned her? Had they been a monster like Valentine? Had she been someone's victim once? 

Most of that pity evaporated when she turned her gaze on me. These weren't the eyes of a little girl. Whatever innocence she'd had before turning had long since atrophied. There was only hate and soulless calculation swirling in her gaze. They threatened to bleed to pale flame, the way Jeanette's had in my dream. Willie had been right. She was pissed. What had I done besides being marked against my will? I was trying to find the murderer, just like she'd asked. 

"Come closer, animator," she purred, voice low and persuasive. It didn't match the look in her eyes. "Stand beside me." 

"And if I say no?" 

One second she was there and the next she was beside me, little hand clasping my wrist, dragging me forward with enough force she nearly yanked my arm out of its socket. The other hand found the small of my back and she pushed me hard against the front rail of the catwalk. The force was almost enough to push me up and over the rail. I let out a small, involuntary yelp. 

Fuck. I hadn't even seen her move. I wasn't supposed to be susceptible to mind tricks while I bore Jeanette's marks, right? Was it Nikky's age or was she truly that good? 

"Do as I say, Anita. It will be less painful for you in the end." 

I grit my teeth hard to contain yet more panicked sounds. It would be so easy for her to throw me over the side. From this height, I'd probably die and in the unlikely event I didn't, I'd need traction. 

I had learned one thing though. Nikky wasn't a fighter. She'd gotten hold of me, yes, but she hadn't secured me. She was counting on her strength and speed to put me in my place and her fear factor to keep me where she'd put me. She hadn't even bothered to secure my other arm. Bad idea on her part. 

Before she could capitalize on the surprise, I cocked my free elbow and then slammed it backward, hitting the solar plexus as hard as I could. Her grip loosened as air wooshed out of her lungs. She didn't need it for survival but old habits died hard. Her body still thought of itself in mostly human terms and the reflex tied to the action was still there, no matter how superfluous.

Unlike Nikky, I didn't hesitate. I pivoted, cocked a fist, and sent it flying toward her face. She turned in time to keep me from breaking her nose, taking the punch on one cheekbone instead. She staggered backward, hitting the opposite rail hard enough it would have bruised a human. It was about shoulder height, and she got a grip on it to keep herself from being pitched off the side. 

The pretense of humanity fled, and she was suddenly skeletal, flames burning where her eyes ought to be, her dress hanging off her gaunt frame. She bared her fangs at me and an animalistic sound of challenge trickled through her teeth. She didn't leap on me, though. She didn't have to. 

The only warning I got was the slight tremor of the catwalk and the sound of impact as a man's heavy tread hit the metal. Then a shape hurtled out of the darkness at the far end of the catwalk, hitting me sideways in a football-style tackle. I only got a vague impression of him as I was dragged toward the floor of the catwalk. He was white, shaved bald, with dark eyes and a narrow face. He wasn't as huge as Dolph or Bert but he didn't have to be with all that built up momentum. 

We went down, him on top, and slid several feet along the metal grids that made up the bottom of the catwalk. It was like being dragged along a cheese grater, even with the coat on. It was only that layer of leather that kept me from being hurt badly. I'd have to thank Ronnie for convincing me to buy it. 

He pinned my lower body easily with his weight. Anything I could have done to throw him off would only send one or both of us off the edge and he knew it. He pinned my good hand and pressed the blade of a Balisong knife to my throat. Very illegal, but I doubted he gave a shit. 

Nikky appeared over his shoulder, crouching so she was very near me. She ran a slender finger over the crown of his head and gave him a beatific smile. 

"Well done, Burchard. I think I shall reward you tonight." 

Burchard smiled in return, though there was something eager and a little predatory to the expression. I tried not to think what Nikky's "reward" might be. 

"Of course, mistress. Would you like me to kill her?" 

He said it casually. His knife hand was steady. He wouldn't hesitate if she gave the order. 

"No," she said with a sigh. "It would be an awful mess to have her blood drip down onto our clientele." 

"I could toss her over the side," he suggested. "It might look like a suicide." 

Nikky gave a girlish giggle at the suggestion. "You're incorrigible. Amusing as it would be to send the chattel scurrying, it is bad for business. Let me through."

Burchard obligingly scooted to the side so Nikolaos could crouch near my head. I tried to buck Burchard off, despite the futility of it. I'd rather take my chances with gravity than with Nikolaos. The fall could only kill me. Nikolaos could probably do worse. 

She leaned a little closer, sniffing the air near my face delicately. When she smiled she flashed her dainty fangs. 

"Ah, such fear. What a lovely bouquet. Rich and concentrated. You don't fear much but you _do_ fear me. That's good, animator. Very good. You should be afraid." 

"Why?" I panted. It was hard to breathe with Buchard crushing me into the floor of the catwalk. "Why the fuck are you doing this? I've never touched you or your people. I only came here to talk." 

"You came here to kill me," she hissed. 

"I didn't-" 

She shoved her face close to mine. At this range, I could see a small scar on her lower lip. A pink tongue darted out to trace it. She was panting too, eager. She looked like she was getting off on my helplessness. 

"Do not lie to me, Anita Blake. Only today you met with Death and the Rat King to plot my destruction."

I stopped struggling, going very still beneath Burchard. How the hell had she known that? It'd happened at noon, for God's sake. 

Her lips curled into a thin, triumphant smile. "Oh yes, I know everything that goes on in this city. Do not take me for a fool. Any plots you've been hatching will be handily thwarted. Even now I have Mo Cameron strapped into a coffin for even _thinking_ of revealing my resting place. The Rat King is more difficult to deal with, but I'll find a suitable punishment soon enough. Perhaps I will set the entire Rodere upon him when I have pried them loose from his control. There won't be enough of him to send home in a shoebox." 

She sucked in a deep breath and shuddered once in ecstasy. 

"Death, Jeanette's pet, and your little detective will have a surprise waiting for them tonight. I do hope they enjoy it." 

She almost singsonged the last bit. 

"How the fuck do you know all this? There wasn't anyone at the bar near enough to-" 

I cut off mid-sentence as my mind went over the memory again. Jeanette had said Luther and Dead Dave didn't snitch. Maybe it was different when they were faced by the Master of the City, but somehow I didn't think so. We hadn't talked around the waiter, so that left...

"The drunk at the bar," I whispered. "Fuck. He was a thrall."

It made perfect sense, in retrospect. A human could go out in the day. Even if she'd had the rare daywalker on hand, I'd sense a vampire spy a mile off. A deeply enthralled human was preferable. If the mind fuck went deep enough he wouldn't even know he'd been bespelled. 

"Yes," she purred. "I've had someone following you since our last talk, animator. Did you think I'd trust you? Infuriatingly moral as you could be, I had considered that you might turn yourself in, the consequences to your person be damned. I can't let that happen."

"Because then you don't get to kill me." 

She giggled again, and the sound grated against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. 

"Perhaps. But for now, you need to be punished, Anita Blake. A little dose of my power so that you know just who you've decided to pit yourself against." 

Nikolaos struck. I didn't see her do it and could only recoil as I felt her breath on my throat. Then her tiny fangs drove into me like hot needles. Instead of pleasure, there was only more pain and an unreasoning surge of terror. I couldn't breathe, black power wrapping implacable fingers around my throat, choking off my air. I thrashed against Burchard, tried to get my hands free so that I could pry the hands loose somehow. Black spots began to dance across my vision as I struggled to drag in air. 

Within seconds, the blackness was total, like I'd been dragged to the frigid depths of the sea. There were things in the blackness, swimming just beyond sight. Things within the deep I never wanted to see. My worst fears bubbled up through the murk. The worst my mind had to offer. My mother's funeral. Curtis' bloody end. Valentine's victims. The cases I worked with RPIT. And the recurring dream. That desiccated body in its grave. Jasmine and rain clogged my nose accompanied by the thick slide of mud down my throat. 

_Mother, mother, mother..._

The hands withdrew at once and I was suddenly able to suck in air again. I surfaced from the black tide like a drowning victim, pulling in eager gasps. The popcorn-scented air smelled like the sweetest perfume after the brief dip in Nikolaos' power. 

Nikky had fallen soundly on her ass. She scooted away from me as quickly as she could. For the first time since I met her, she looked her age. Between the dress, the matching bow in her hair, and the wide, uncertain look on her face, she looked like a child. Goosebumps strained the skin on her arms. I hadn't even known vampires could still get goosebumps. 

I shuddered, though her power no longer touched me. Nikolaos had meant to scare me. I'd somehow scared her instead. I'd frightened a night hag. Fuck. 

"Marmee Noir," she breathed. 

"What?" 

"The Sweet Dark. The Mother of Us All."

I didn't know what she meant by that and I wasn't in the mood to listen to an explanation anyway. 

"Get him the fuck off me," I wheezed. 

"Burchard, let her up," Nikolaos said faintly. 

Burchard leapt off of me like a good lapdog and retreated to his master's side. He towered over her so the contrast was almost comical. She stepped into him. resting her head in the curve of his waist, balling a hand in his dress slacks as he pocketed the Balisong. She looked like a frightened little girl. 

"I came here to report to you," I said, patting myself down. I was going to be bruised but all my bits and bobs were accounted for. "I've been contacted by the murderer. They're an animator. They may or may not be working with a vampire and therian pair as well. I can't sense the animator or the vampire that's hired him. I was hoping you could tell me if any vampires with significant power have passed through Saint Louis in the past few weeks." 

"No," she muttered. "Not in the past few weeks. But..." 

That pink tongue darted out to trace her scar again, more a nervous tic this time than anticipation. I wondered if she knew she was doing it. 

"But what?" 

"There is an animator, now that I think of it. He came to us from Kansas City seeking sanctuary. He said that he would be persecuted for magical malfeasance and would work for the Circus free of charge if we could reshape his identity and hide him from the authorities. His power seems to come and go. At some points, he may rival many of your colleagues. At others, the corpses can barely pull themselves from their graves to shamble about." 

Unease traced chilly fingers across the back of my neck. The sweat that popped along my brow had nothing to do with the heat. This whole thing was tickling recent memory. 

After Summer Fox had so disastrously put black magic to use, all animators had been encouraged to do a little digging into the past of our craft for any other complications we might encounter, no matter how slim the possibility. The reigning Vodun Priestess of the Midwest, Dominga Salvador, had been able to uncover and translate some fairly dark shit and passed the information along to Animators Inc. 

One of those things had been the creation of a powerful type of gris-gris. Most were made to ward off evil spirits or give the wearer good fortune. Occasionally though, an animator could use it to bind themselves to the life force of another, changing them into a unique form of undead. The catch was an inability to animate. The dead didn't raise the dead. But I was betting this man did. That was why he'd been killing Master Vampires. The bigger the kill, the more lifelike the dead became. All that power wouldn't just animate him, it'd allow him to animate others. 

Like Curtis. 

"What was his name?" I demanded. 

"Zachary," she said faintly. "Zachary Freeman." 

The name hit me like a punch. It was true. It was all true.

"Shit," I muttered. "Shit, shit, shit!" 

"What is going on, animator? Tell me this instant!" 

I rounded on her, jabbing a finger into that pretty, childlike face. I was surprised she didn't bite it. 

"You're sheltering the murderer! The animator you took in has been dead for six months. He's using a gris-gris to keep himself alive. It's fueled by bits taken from your murdered vampires. Reanimation can only come from a death and only the power of a Master would allow him to animate others again. The dead don't raise the dead. Where is he? If I destroy that gris-gris, I might be able to end him." 

She hesitated. "I have sent Zachary to deal with Death and the Rat King. He left fifteen minutes before you arrived." 

I was moving before she was even through speaking. I swallowed the urge to throw up, ignored the dizziness, and pelted toward the end of the catwalk as fast as my legs would carry me. There was no time. He might already be there, ready and willing to hurt my friends. 

"Animator, wait!" Nikolaos called. "There's something that you need to-" 

The rest of the sentence was swallowed by the sounds of the Circus beneath us. I was at the ladder now, clinging to each rung for dear life as I descended. Nikolaos was above me, shouting, but I didn't strain to hear her. I had no time. I leaped off the ladder when I was two feet up and hit the ground running, weaving through startled tourists and fanged clowns alike to reach the back exit. 

I burst through, knocking Willie onto his ass as I flew past. 

"Where are you going, Anita?" he shouted after me.

"To a party!" I called back. "I've got friends to save!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there have been a few necromancer vampires but it's been really inconsistent what can and can't be done with animating/necromancy so I'm going to try to set up some ground rules and stick to them the best I can. So at least for this version of the canon I'm doing pretty much the only vampire who can do it is the Marmee Noir because basically her entire existence is as a big eff you to the rules of canon. Rightly so, because she's the originator, but I think only the MOAD and her minons should probably be able to do that.


	17. Chapter 17

I didn't use lights and sirens very often. Zerbrowski and Dolph had just okayed a small magnetic light for the top of my Jeep, which was only supposed to be used for emergencies. They'd finally agreed after I'd gotten stuck in Saint Louis traffic during what was meant to be an urgent chase. The vampire had stolen a Ferrari and had taken four hostages. One had died before I'd been able to reach them. The family had leveled a lawsuit at both me and the police department. They'd ultimately lost the suit but it had finally earned me the light and siren I'd been petitioning for. I was only supposed to use it in emergencies and usually in conjunction with a police officer or two. 

I was pretty sure that Dolph would forgive me for this one. My phone had been smashed during the confrontation with Nikolaos and Burchard, so I couldn't call to confirm. It was just a guess. Maybe a fervent hope.

The address Phillip had given us was in a neighborhood just off of Zumbehl road. The cars in my way melted to the side, allowing me to get into the right turning lane with minimal trouble. It was about the only thing that had gone right all evening. I took the turn quickly, pressing the gas pedal to the floor in an effort to get to the private residence sooner. The glowing signs of the various businesses zipped by in my periphery. A Marriott Hotel. A private practice, a church with a large sign proclaiming "Don't let worry kill you, let the church help!"

A block away from the quaint suburban neighborhood was a nursing home and a cemetery. It was large, situated on large rolling hills. There were plenty of graves. I didn't think Zachary had the juice to raise all the dead in the place but he'd probably have enough to raise at least a handful. As Summer Fox had proved with her stunt, it didn't take many zombies to cause a whole hell of a lot of trouble. The question was, had he already raised them, or was he still in the midst of the ritual? He'd need another vampire sacrifice to raise the dead. Subduing and sacrificing it had to take time. I was banking on that. I had to because the alternative was to believe my allies were being swarmed by killer zombies. 

I couldn't feel him. A product of his unique circumstance, maybe? No one had enacted the ritual for centuries. Most of the magical records from those days had been repressed or outright destroyed by the Church, which maintained a militant anti-magic sentiment to this day. Maybe it was like catching a soul in a bottle and returning it to the body, the way the old legends said. He was dead but he still had a soul. Maybe he'd found and exploited a blind spot. 

I flicked the light and siren off as I approached the house. Freak parties were illegal, due to the risk of contracting vampirism and therianthropy in an uncontrolled environment. They'd probably think I was there to bust them. The last thing I needed was a panicked horde of Freaks sprinting into the large expanse of woods that surrounded the large, red-brick Victorian American-style home. They'd get mowed down by the incoming zombies and I'd have a whole hell of a lot of explaining to do. 

The house was surrounded by cars. That meant my choices were taking the extra few minutes to parallel park in an excruciatingly small space between a Prius and a Chevrolet pickup or take the very illegal spot in front of the fire hydrant. I parked in front of the hydrant. I'd take a fine if it could prevent fatalities. 

I strained hard against my seat belt for a moment, too frantic to get inside to remember to undo it. The second I was loose I rounded the Jeep, opening the tailgate so I could get to the trunk space. Just beneath the false bottom, where most people would keep a spare tire, was my gear. A recent law had required on-call Executioners to carry the basic tools of their trade with them at all times. I only had four guns, the ammunition, a stake and hammer, two vials of holy water, and one can of holy hairspray inside the duffel bag. Five guns and three stakes, if I counted the things I had on my person. I wasn't sure it would be enough against a swarm of murderous zombies, but it'd have to do. 

A few of the Freaks lounging on the wide front porch stared and spluttered stilted protests as I sped past. 

"Sorry," I panted as I passed. The smile I forced threatened to break my face. "I'm late. Got a lot of biting to catch up on, bye!" 

The front door was propped open to allow guests inside, but the screen was in place to keep the June Bugs and mosquitoes out. The cold was leaking through the screen, feathering over my face. This was probably killing someone's power bill. I was forced to slow when I entered the house at last. There were too many people here, most of them draped over whatever surface the house had to offer. The energy of so many vampires in the room made me shiver. The metaphysics of it made the room feel a dozen degrees colder than it had been before. 

For every vampire, there were three or four humans fawning over them. In comparison to this crowd, I was overdressed. Most of them were wearing lingerie of the very sheer variety. A few were only in underwear, with star-shaped pasties to keep from flashing nipple. Some were even wearing tassels. The sheer amount of naked flesh on display momentarily stunned me. I thought of myself as a fairly liberal woman most days, but some staunch puritanical part of me reared its head when nudity and sex got involved, no matter how hard I tried to quash it.

It was easy to locate Ronnie in the crowd. Even in a red tube top and Daisy Dukes, she was one of the most conservative outfits. Her makeup was a little over the top, deliberately exaggerated for the occasion. Bright red lipstick, false lashes, glitter spread over her cheeks. Her hair fell around her shoulders in tousled waves. She almost never let her hair down in either the literal or figurative sense. She looked beautiful. 

Unthinking jealousy made my stomach twist. It wasn't the time to indulge my issues surrounding tall, beautiful blondes. I shoved it down. I could throw myself a pity party later. 

Edward had an arm around her, his hand resting lightly on her ass. That threw me for a second too. I'd never seen Edward touch a woman like that before. I knew he could be charming but so far as I could tell, the only thing he got hot and bothered about was the chase and the promise of a good kill. Maybe some part of me always assumed he was asexual. Was it an act or was he really heterosexual? Maybe he had a thing for blondes. Not important, in the grand scheme of things. 

A tall, curvy black woman was leaning into Phillip, pressing a very impressive bosom against his chest. He wasn't wearing much. Leather pants, a fishnet shirt, skater gloves. The woman wore even less. Her breasts threatened to pop out of a black push up bra. Her crimson skirt barely brushed her thighs. 

She was smiling at him. He smiled back. Strangely enough, people seemed to be having a great time. Even though the occupants looked like the more fetishy members of a pride parade, they weren't necessarily as freakish as the name made them out to be. The air buzzed with excitement, people mingled and paired off disappearing into bedrooms. It felt more like a swingers party than anything else. 

Rafael was leaning against the wall, standing out like a sore thumb because he was fully dressed. He wore a baggy denim jacket over a white t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. His hair was still slicked back. He was scanning the room, looking for something. When his gaze locked on me he smiled invitingly. That smile withered away almost instantly when he caught sight of my expression. 

I weaved through the crowd, avoiding elbows and trying not to upend drinks as I made my way to them. Rafael approached quickly, meeting me halfway, slinging an arm around me, much the same way Edward was holding Ronnie. He didn't grab my ass, for which I was grateful.

"What's wrong?" 

"Found the bad guy," I whispered back. "I need to let everyone know at the same time. We don't have time for me to repeat my explanation." 

Rafael nodded and pulled me closer, somehow seeming to part the guests with his energy alone. They scooted away unconsciously from the heat of his beast. Deliberate or a loss of control, I couldn't tell. We reached Edward, Ronnie, and Phillip in mere seconds. Only Edward was able to keep unwavering control of his expression when he caught sight of my anxious face. Ronnie knew me well enough to be afraid if I was. After years of hunting vampires, I didn't spook easily. Phillip's genial grin slipped a little, some of the bleedover of my anxiety touching him. 

"Rochelle, do you mind if I take my friends into the back for a...private party?" He tried to don the smile again as he glanced at us suggestively. It looked a little strained.

Rochelle seemed too enamored with him to care. She batted thick lashes at him and smirked. 

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she purred. "And come back to me soon, darling. I'll miss you every second you're away." 

"Back at you, beautiful," he said, forcing the smile wider. "See you soon." 

With that, he turned and all but marched the rest of us toward the back of the house. There was another porch in the back, shaded by a white lattice arch. Vines climbed up it, the flowers no longer as impressive as they might have been in the daytime. A garden lay not far beyond, night-blooming jasmine perfuming the air. The scent made me gag. 

The wrought iron patio set was empty, thank God. We'd panic the poor party-goers enough when the zombies arrived.

"What's going on?" Edward asked without prelude the second the glass sliding door closed behind us. 

"I know who's raised Curtis and who's committing the murders. His name is Zachary Freeman. He was an animator from Kansas City who died months ago. He's been using a gris-gris to transfer energy from the slaughtered vampires to keep himself animate. It's a very old ritual and it makes him a special kind of undead. It's why I haven't been able to sense him. The power will wane once he's used up some of the energy. Nikolaos found out about our little war council and sent him after us before she knew. I don't know how many zombies he can raise at a time but I know he has at least one flesh-eater and he'll probably have more killer zombies coming for us soon." 

"So we need to get the hell out of Dodge?" Edward surmised. 

"The sooner the better," I said with a grim nod. "We have to lead them away before-" 

A shriek sounded in the distance. The unknown screamer was probably a block up from us.

"Before _that_ ," I muttered. "We need to go." 

I took off running, rounding the house, pushing myself as hard as I could in the clinging leather pants and my swinging duffel would allow. Edward quickly overtook me, making for the Chevrolet Pickup instead of my Jeep. 

Rafael pulled ahead as well, clambering into the bed of the pickup as soon as he reached it. Ronnie kept pace with me and Phillip brought up the rear. All the muscle in the world wouldn't help your endurance if you didn't practice. He was out of breath by the time we reached the pickup. Rafael offered Ronnie and I a hand up and we took the help without grumbling. 

"Stay here," I instructed Phillip when he tried to climb up. 

His jaw set stubbornly. "I want to help." 

I glared down at him. "Have you ever shot a gun in your life?" 

"Yes," he snapped. "After Valentine, I went to the range every damn day as soon as I was legal. I need to do this. Jeanette trusted me to keep you safe."

I hesitated a second longer. He wasn't like Edward or Rafael, who I was confident could handle themselves in a fight and not panic. Edward was...Edward. Rafael was a wereanimal and had a beast form that could do combat if need be. I trusted Ronnie too, though she hadn't ever faced zombies. She'd trust what I said and follow instructions. Phillip was a wild card. I wasn't sure how he'd handle combat. 

But we didn't have time to argue about it. 

"Get up here and be ready when the time comes," I warned him before extending a hand to help him up. He took it and heaved himself into the bed of the truck. I rummaged in my bag and produced my Firestar. I slapped it into his outstretched hand. I turned to Rafael next. 

"Are you armed?"

He reached to the small of his back and produced a .44 Magnum. He caught sight of the stunned look on my face and grinned, a flash of devilish humor dancing in his dark eyes. Despite myself, I felt a small pull toward Rafael.

"I never leave the house without protection, Anita." 

I snorted. "That was so fucking cheesy." 

"You loved it." 

I did. In this fraught situation, I'd take the only levity I was likely to get. Edward rolled down his window and called to us as he started the engine. 

"Hold onto your butts," he called with a laugh. Then we peeled off into the night, swiping the bumper of a Dodge Durango, off to face killer zombies and their undead animator. 

Sometimes my life was just _sooo_ much fun.


	18. Chapter 18

Edward barreled down the street at a speed that would have earned him a ticket and a fine if there'd been a police car anywhere around. It made me a little nervous to be going so fast in a suburban area. It was probably too dark for most children to be riding their bikes or skateboards but trust this to be the exception. 

The zombies weren't rushing us, as I'd half-expected. They were running full-tilt in the opposite direction, mowing down anyone who got in their way. The woman who'd screamed had a bloody bite on one arm. A late-night jogger wearing blinkers and reflective clothing was on his knees, cradling an injury I couldn't see well. A pair of stragglers on their way to the Freak Party had nail marks across their very exposed chests. We didn't have time to slow down and check on the wounded. I hoped someone would call 911. 

Ronnie noticed the pattern at almost the same moment I did and shouted to make herself heard over the wind. 

"They're not killing!" 

"No, they're not," I agreed. 

Which was strange. Zachary had been ordered to kill or maim us. So why were the zombies traveling in the opposite direction? Had he lost control over them already? If my headcount was right, there were at least seven. It was an incredible feat for any animator. Few animators in the country could raise more than that. It would have been understandable for Zachary to have lost control over some or all of them if his strength gave out.

Still, it didn't seem right. They weren't wandering aimlessly, the way zombies were prone to do without instruction. They clearly had a goal in mind, it just wasn't to kill us. I tried to peer as closely at the zombies as our bumpy ride would allow. All but one of them was wearing everyday street clothes. Jeans or shorts, t-shirts, and tank tops. Most wore sneakers. They were all male and most of them were fairly young. The youngest was probably a large nine or a small eleven. 

The exception was the furthest away, heading the v-shaped formation. He stood head and shoulders above the rest, much broader, and definitely a man. He wore a tattered and bloodstained tuxedo and his sandy hair looked almost ghostly in the moonlight. Like the others, he had sallow skin that had begun to sag in places. But other than that? He looked completely human. To the uneducated eye, he'd look sickly, not dead. 

Seeing him stole my breath. 

"What's going on, Anita?" Ronnie said, nudging me in the ribs. It successfully diverted my attention from Curtis' eerily lifelike visage. 

I refocused on the others, trying to puzzle out the commonality. It came to me a minute later. 

"They're murder victims," I said, growing confident with the assessment as I watched them move. "Someone probably hid a mass grave in the nearby cemetery. I think that they were slaughtered by a vampire. I was pretty sure it was a vampire who contacted me, not Zachary. If that's true, it means that they won't stop until they find their murderer." 

"He's leading us right to the evil bastard," Rafael guessed. "Trying to take the heat off his own ass. He's tying up a loose end so he can skip town." 

"Sounds plausible," Ronnie said with a nod. "So what do we do, Anita?" 

I had a half-second to think about it and make a decision. 

"We follow them and only shoot if they're going to hurt or kill someone. I don't want to shoot in these neighborhoods if we can help it. A ricochet is more likely to kill someone than these zombies. I don't have frangible rounds and even if I did, I doubt it'd do shit against a zombie. If they start eating flesh or turning on us, aim for the jaw and the joints. Take away their ability to claw, bite, and walk." 

Phillip relayed the information to Edward. Though I couldn't see his face to confirm, I could practically smell Edward's disappointment. He'd been looking forward to a bloody zombie battle, not the cat and mouse game we were playing with the undead. He'd probably get his showdown soon enough. I wasn't letting the zombies take out the vampire behind this. 

I wasn't letting anyone else have the satisfaction of ending their worthless existence. That was my job, my pleasure, my _right_ after what they'd done. 

I expected the zombie formation to veer into the District. Flesh-eaters were drawn like homing pigeons back to their murderer. Nikolaos had been hiding the animator who'd raised them and it stood to reason she'd unknowingly sheltered the other half of the murderous duo. So it surprised me when they tore off in the opposite direction after mauling a few of the drunken patrons of Iniquity who'd begun to stagger their way home. 

The wind whipped away their screams as we turned a corner sharply and barely avoided being t-boned by a Honda CR-V. A chorus of car horns followed us down the road as Edward repeatedly cut through traffic. My nerves were fraying fast and I was teetering on the edge of a panic attack. I wanted a seat belt. Every phobia I'd had since my mother's death came screaming to the fore. At any second I expected Edward to slam on the breaks, sending the rest of us flying headfirst out of the truck bed to crack our skulls on the pavement. I should have insisted we take my Jeep. We'd have had lights and sirens. We wouldn't have had the freedom to move but...

I was beginning to think Zachary was out of range because two of the zombies peeled away from the group to fall upon a couple walking down the sidewalk. The closest lunged for the woman's throat. Edward spotted it and slowed, able to give us enough time to aim and fire. I didn't like it one fucking bit, because if I was off even a little, she was probably going to die. If I didn't shoot, she'd _definitely_ die. 

So I took aim at the zombie's head. I tried not to see it as a him, a little boy wearing a muddy set of Spongebob pajamas. I tried not to think of him as someone's six or seven-year-old son. He was dead. The woman wasn't and that was all that should matter. I squeezed the trigger. 

A good portion of the zombie's jaw simply disappeared. Gore blew outward, splattering the woman's blouse, sending her and her partner sprinting down the street screaming at the top of their lungs. The zombie shambled after them, but I felt a little better about leaving it behind us, especially when Rafael's bullets took out a knee and blew off a hand. A limping, one-handed zombie was less of a threat. 

The other zombie didn't even get a chance to follow the nice couple. Edward gunned the engine and jumped the curb long enough to mow the zombie down. The entire truck lurched and horrific snapping and squelching sounds carried to us as the zombie was crushed beneath the wheels. Edward let out a whoop, followed by a chorus of manic laughter. 

"Este loco hijueputa nos va a matar," Rafael muttered beneath his breath. I barely heard it over the sound of the wind. Somehow, it made me smile. At least someone was as unhappy about Edward's attitude and reckless driving as I was. 

"Yeah, he probably will," I called back to him. 

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Surprised you caught that, Blake."

I rolled one shoulder, keeping my gun down and aimed at the bed of the truck until I needed to shoot again.

"Grandpa Flores would say things like that when Grandma was out of the house. When she caught me saying them she washed my mouth out with soap. One of the many reasons I didn't like going to see her."

The brow shot up further. "You're Latina?"

I resisted the urge to shrug again. We didn't really have time for this conversation, but Rafael didn't look like he wanted to let it go.

"Genetically, yeah. Culturally, no. I disliked Grandma Flores and her hardcore fundamentalist bullshit, my mom died before she could teach me much, and dad's about as White as they come. So all I really know is what I could pick up from high school Spanish and Grandpa Flores."

He smirked. "I could teach you some time if you like."

I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, I already know the words you'd like to teach me." I let my voice come out breathy. "Oh, Rafael! Ay Dios Mio! Oh, por favor..."

"You tease, but I could be into that."

"Focus and do your damn job."

The zombies sprinted faster, pressing the limits of their endurance but they wouldn't have been a match for the truck's top speed. Only traffic and their occasional offroading kept us from catching up right away. By the time that traffic did thin enough for us to get a good look at their new path, it was pretty clear where they were going. Maybe it should have been obvious from the moment we turned onto Page Avenue, but it still caught me by surprise.

"Is that...?" Ronnie began. 

"The Church of Eternal Life," Phillip finished. 

The Church was situated on a stretch of bare land. I'd always thought it looked a little naked without much vegetation to shroud it. A few small trees struggled to flourish in the shadows of the church, but that was about it. The ground had been churned so that red earth surrounded the place. A brand new parking lot stretched out to one side, though most of the spots were empty. Did that mean most of the tenants were out proselytizing or was Malcolm more hard-up for followers than he was letting on? 

It didn't ultimately matter because what people he did have were about to be attacked by a group of bloodthirsty zombies. We weren't going to have time to park and exit the truck before they broke through the doors of the shiny white church. They were already racing up the pathway to the doors.

Which was why Edward decided to bypass those steps entirely. Once again he gunned the throttle, leaping over the curb, sending the truck into a deliberate fishtail, almost crushing another zombie. He came to a stop just before the front steps of the Church, spitting clods of red earth into the air, and effectively cutting off the zombies. He also sent all of us crashing to the bed of the truck, bruising our tailbones or knocking our heads against the side. Rafael said something foul about Edward's mother in Spanish as he regained his feet. 

Edward was out of the cab quicker than I would have thought humanly possible, snugging the stock of a sawed-off shotgun into his shoulder, smiling as he sighted the first zombie. He was coming up fast, arms extended toward Edward. He was probably fourteen or so. Cute in his way, with blonde hair flopping into his pale eyes. He still had a lot of baby fat. 

All of that disappeared in a shower of blood and bone fragments when Edward pulled the trigger. At close range, the head simply exploded. The body tipped sideways. Edward helped it along with a swift kick to the knees, getting it out of his way, already moving on to his next target. 

It should have been simple. There'd been seven of them. One was maimed but still staggering through the District out of the animator's control. Edward had killed two more. That left four. We outnumbered the zombies and we had the higher ground. Simple to pick them off, right? 

Wrong. The zombie that climbed up the tailgate wasn't any ordinary zombie. It was Curtis. Yes, his eyes were a touch vacant and cloudy. He was caked in dried blood, with a gruesome ring of it around his mouth. It almost looked like a beard. Curtis had barely been able to grow one. He'd mockingly called himself Captain Peach Fuzz. That blood flaked off in patches as he smiled, eyes gaining just a little more reason when they landed on me. 

"Anita," he said. He sounded relieved. "Oh, Anita..." 

He continued to climb, slinging a leg over so that he was standing in the truck with us. He was reaching for me. He didn't know he was dead. Didn't know that when he got his hands on me the animator's commands would compel him to kill me. I knew all of that, and I still couldn't unlock my muscles. 

_Shoot. You have to shoot._

I raised my gun, trying to will myself to do it, but I couldn't. I couldn't look into the eyes of the man I loved as I shot him in the face. Beside me, Ronnie looked equally as torn. She'd known him. We'd had movie nights and went on informal double dates, trekking through conservation trails. She wasn't moving either. Rafael was too far back to have a clean shot. 

Phillip shoved his body between Curtis and I, raising the Firestar. I cried out, though I wasn't sure who I was more afraid for. He fired twice at point-blank range. Curtis was too close and the angle wasn't good. Both shots hit center of mass. If Phillip had been shooting a living person, he'd have killed them. He would have been safe. 

But Curtis was a dead man. A dead man with two working hands and an intact jaw. He lunged at Phillip and I was too damn slow to stop what happened next. 

Curtis' teeth sank into the column of Phillip's throat, jaws working like he was trying to chew a particularly thick steak. Phillip's spine arched and an animal sound of pain escaped his throat. Maybe I should have shot him. Maybe it would have spared him the agony. All I could do was stare as Curtis jerked his head back, taking a chunk the size of a kiwi out of Phillip's neck. 

I caught a brief, sickening glimpse of a mangled artery before it began spurting blood like a severed hose. A lot of it hit Ronnie and I. The temperature was scalding. You forget how warm the human body is, inside and out. I was reminded of that when the blood rained down on us. Tears sprang unbidden into my eyes and I struck the truck bed with one fist over and over as they spilled down my face. Phillip went down, gasping and clutching his neck. Ronnie crouched over him, tried to stem the flow, but it was no use. 

Motherfucking son of a bitch. This was my fault. I should have shot Curtis. He was dead and Phillip had been living. Now both were gone because I'd fucked up. Again. This was exactly what the animator and vampire duo had been aiming for and I'd given it to them. 

But his death didn't have to be a waste. As the blood began to pool and spread ever outward, I called upon my power, letting it rush out like a cold wind, touching all the dead in the vicinity. There were four zombies outside with us and about sixteen vampires in the church, most of them concentrated in the upper levels. I used Phillip's dwindling life to fuel my power over the dead. Though I hadn't planned it, would have given anything to reverse it, Phillip's death could count as a human sacrifice. God help me. I was so going to Hell for even considering it, much less doing it. 

Edward had killed another zombie as I drew power, so there were only three to hear my call. Curtis stilled as the cool wind of it touched him. I drew in a shaking breath and tried to make the command forceful.

"Go," I said, voice hoarse but still ringing in the stillness. "All of you. Return to your graves and trouble the living no more." 

At first, I wasn't sure if it had worked. Animators could theoretically seize control of the dead from a lesser animator but I'd never seen it done in practice. I held my breath and it almost came out on a sob when the zombies turned and began to slowly walk away. I didn't release my vise grip on my Browning until they'd become mere dots in the distance. 

Edward spat on the ground, giving me an almost affronted look when we climbed out of the truck bed. I had to carefully edge around Phillip. He was pale, eyes fixed wide in shock, his mouth opened in an agonized gasp. I shuddered and jerked my gaze away. There was no time for hysterics and no time for guilt. I could castigate myself for this epic fuck-up at another time. 

"Why'd you go and steal all the fun from the fight, sugar?" 

Ronnie actually slugged him. One knobbly fist impacted the side of his face and had enough force to snap his head to the side. I held my breath, hoping Edward wasn't about to snap her wrist or return the favor. He just straightened back up, smirking a little as he rubbed the side of his face. 

"Little spitfire, isn't she?" 

"This isn't _fun_ , asshole!" Ronnie snarled. "Phillip is dead and you're pouting? Grow the fuck up!" 

"Ronnie, Edward, please..." My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. "We don't have time for this. We need to get inside and find the bastard responsible for the murders. They've already felt my power. I'm sure the vampires inside are riled. Let's go." 

I cast a glance backward at Rafael, who was still on the truck bed. He'd crouched near Phillip's prone body, a distant echo of my anguish on his face. 

"Rafael..." 

I wasn't sure what I was trying to ask. Rafael knew. 

"I'll make sure he's taken care of, Anita. I won't let anything else happen to him until the authorities arrive." 

I nodded, screwing my mouth into a thin line so no sounds could escape. Then I grabbed my duffel and followed Ronnie and Edward up the steps.


	19. Chapter 19

The Church's doors were closed, which was our first clue that something was wrong. One door was always open, day or night. The Church of Eternal Life went door to door handing out leaflets during the day and did most of their final vetting at night. The sign on the other door read; "Enter Friend and be at peace." It had a pair of fine cracks along its surface. The wooden edge of one door had been reduced to so much wood pulp and I could make out the impression of human-like fingers.

Shit. Someone had gotten here before we could. Zachary, or something worse? That was the million-dollar question. All I knew was that none of the zombies we'd chased had been responsible. Was it one of the sixteen vampires that I'd sensed inside? 

Before we could either knock or shatter what was left of the door, it swung inward. I exchanged a glance with Edward, and without needing a signal, we both raised our weapons to point at the narrow black opening. His shotgun would do more damage to a vampire than my Browning, but at this range, it wouldn't really matter. If I got the brain or heart at this range, the vampire beyond was dead. 

A man stepped into the gap, one hand raised in a pacifying gesture. The other remained balled into a fist at his side. He was tall, almost painfully thin with pale skin stretched tight over his bones. The last time I'd gotten a glimpse of him he'd looked almost perfect, his power spilling all around him like cool water. I'd judged Malcolm to be one of the most powerful vampires I'd ever met. 

I'd been wrong. After meeting Nikolaos and her kiss, I knew he wasn't half as powerful as I'd thought him. Powerful, yes, but not so powerful that I couldn't handle him if I needed to. 

Could Malcolm be our murderer? He was powerful enough to take a human and therian servant if he chose, though to my knowledge he hadn't. Somehow I didn't think he was guilty. He may have disdain for the vampires that worked for Nikolaos but killing wasn't his style. The whole point of the Church was to be a rallying point for the mainstream vampire. A place to go for guidance now that you'd become fatally allergic to faith. 

There was something in his eyes too. They were a nice Robin's egg blue, set off nicely by the blue suit jacket and ice blue silk tie. His face was angular and though he tried to smile at us, I caught the false note in it. Something was wrong. I scanned him again, noting an odd bulge under his suit coat. Maybe someone else would have put it down to a pencil case or maybe a weapon, but I didn't think so. Between that detail and the closed fist, I got a very, very bad feeling. 

"Hello, Miss Blake," he said pleasantly. "So nice of you to drop in." 

He glanced at the Chevrolet and the clods of dirt it had thrown onto his stairs and the pristine white siding of his church. A little of the fussy preacher showed through at last, even if it was quickly sponged away by false geniality. 

"Well you know, I was in the neighborhood." 

"Why don't you come inside, Miss Blake? We'll talk. We've installed a small coffee lounge. Do you still take yours black?" 

It was all so casual that I could have almost bought it. 

"Yeah, I do. Edward and Ronnie too. I'm not sure how Rafael takes his." 

Unease flickered in his eyes, the lines around his mouth tightening infinitesimally. 

"I must insist on a private meeting, Miss Blake. We must discuss something of a very sensitive nature." 

"Not a chance," Ronnie snapped, raising her pistol at the same time I lowered mine. "We're all coming in or we're all leaving." 

I locked gazes with Edward, willing him to see the truth in my eyes even as I spoke to Ronnie. 

"No, Ronnie. It's alright. I trust Malcolm not to do anything incendiary." 

"But-" 

Edward got a grip on Ronnie's free elbow and tugged her back down the steps. He gave me a small nod. He'd understood. 

"Anita's a big girl, Veronica. She can handle herself." 

"Get off me you sociopathic asshole," Ronnie snapped, struggling against his grip. 

I used the distraction to slip through the open door, brushing past Malcolm as I did so. 

The interior of the church was pretty if a little generic. Polished wooden pews formed two rows with a bare stretch to allow congregants to reach the altar. I wasn't sure if it qualified, in the end. There was no god or goddess to pay tribute to. The red and blue stained glass windows had no iconography. The pulpit was just a slab of bare wood. No carvings or scripture. It held onto the trappings of faith like the scent of a lover's perfume on your pillow, but at the end of the day, it's hollow. You know in the end, it's all over and there's nothing left for you. 

He led me to the carpeted hall that would lead to the lounge, but I put out a hand to stop him before he could go farther. I raised one hand to my lips and fixed him with a very stern look, mouthing "Don't move." 

Then I flipped the suit jacket open and tried my damnedest not to suck in a breath. I'd been right.

There was a bomb strapped to his chest, and the wire probably ran down the length of one sleeve. A dead man's switch. Fuck. 

Malcolm said nothing but his eyes pleaded with me not to say or do anything stupid. Maybe he really believed I'd allow him to be blown to pieces in order to make good my escape. I'd probably have thought it was a fair trade three years ago when I'd begun hunting vampires. Now I was beginning to wonder. No matter what I thought of him, I wouldn't let him meet his final death like this. I'd had enough blood for one evening. 

"So," I said conversationally. "Do you have Colombian coffee? I need something stout. You wouldn't believe the night I've had." 

Malcolm's sigh of relief was almost inaudible. "We'll see what we can find." 

Our trip up the hall was damn near silent, with only the frantic beating of my heart to break up the monotony. I was sure he could hear it. All of the vampires up ahead would be able to hear it too. I sensed three. They were all old and powerful and their energy felt...familiar. I was sure I'd encountered all of them before at some point, but I was having trouble putting my finger on the who and when.

The lounge was barely bigger than the offices that preceded it. A full coffee pot was ready on the counter along the far wall. A half-eaten loaf of banana bread was situated on a paper plate and kept fresh by cling wrap. There was one table in the center, surrounded by a few padded folding chairs. The punch bowl at the center of a pristine white table cloth was filled with something too thick to be red Kool-Aid.

And I took note of these things first, in order to stall the inevitable moment when I'd have to look the three vampire occupants of the room in the face. The first two I probably should have expected. Theresa's hair was swept into a messy bun and she'd changed from the bustle dress into something less confining. In the black striped jogging suit, she looked like any collegiate woman looking to stay in shape. That was probably how she'd infiltrated the place. Maybe she'd been the one to corner Malcolm and strap a bomb to him. Malcolm was around three hundred years old. It would take a lot to sneak up on him.

Aubrey sat to her right. He hadn't changed much from his stripperesque attire, wearing a pair of tearaway pants and a thin, sleeveless white shirt. Maybe he'd just arrived from work. His long hair had been tied back out of his face. For convenience, or was he expecting combat?

It was the final occupant of the table that scared the shit out of me. He was dressed like a riverboat gambler. A royal purple coat that frothed with violet lace in the front, neck, and sleeves. He had short auburn hair and dark brown eyes. I'd thought they were black when we'd first met. They'd looked like shiny buttons in his face. That face was obscured by a mask now, concealing most of the damage my holy water had done to his semi-attractive face. 

"Valentine," I breathed. 

Everything finally made a sick amount of sense. Of course, Valentine would want me dead for what I'd done to him. I'd turned him into a hunted man when we'd first met. And now it appeared he was a grossly disfigured one as well thanks to me. I'd thought Edward had finished him off with his trusty flamethrower. Vampires were pretty damn flammable when it came right down to it. Valentine must have shed every stitch of clothing and found a nearby creek to dip in until the sun came up. He'd have healed those burns by now. 

But the scars on his face? Those were permanent in all likelihood. Holy water burned vampires like acid. While it was now theoretically possible to minimize the scarring with plastic surgery, the procedure was still in its infancy. Not something someone as vain as Valentine was willing to undergo on a maybe. 

He smiled as he caught sight of me standing very still in the doorway. The golden mask he wore to cover the scars lifted a little as he did it. There was one rivulet of scar tissue running through one corner of his lips, but they were otherwise untouched. His eyes had been spared as well, it appeared because they glittered with dark malice through the holes in the mask. 

"Ah, Anita Blake," he said in a slow, honeyed drawl drawn straight from the Antebellum South. "We meet again. I heard you earned yourself a title while I was off licking my wounds. They call you the Executioner. Do people know that most of your kills don't fight back?" 

I unlocked my rigid muscles and forced myself to step inside the room. It was clearly what Valentine and company wanted, but what choices did I have? One of them was sure to have another switch to Malcolm's vest. They wouldn't just leave it to chance, given how moral Malcolm liked to pretend he was. It would ruin the fun if he blew himself all to hell before I got here. Now that I was here, it would be their insurance policy to keep me within range. 

Aubrey and Theresa exchanged wide, anticipatory smiles. Their fangs gleamed in the low light. I had a feeling they'd get to use them before the night was through. 

"So you've done your research," I said, shrugging a little. "That still leaves me with ten I earned, Valentine. I'm willing to make it thirteen tonight." 

"Arrogant bitch," Aubrey hissed. "Do you think you're really in any position to be threatening us?"

"No, I guess I'm not. What do you want?" 

I directed the question at Valentine, not Aubrey. He was the mastermind of this little scheme after all. He'd done the research into my background and found an animator who'd do the work of tormenting me, leading me around in circles, and ultimately hemming me into exactly the position Valentine wanted me. Those murder victims hadn't been in that cemetery by chance. Valentine hadn't been double-crossed by Zachary. He'd put me where I needed to be. I doubted Zachary could raise more tonight. Not enough juice to combat my iron control over his dead. With the unintended sacrifice of Phillip, I could handle any zombie he threw at me until dawn. 

Valentine reached up to draw the mask away. He could have knocked it out of the park as Two-Face in any Batman film if it weren't for the problem of his criminal record. The left side of his face ran like candle wax and stuck in streaming strands and thick, dark pits. Most of one cheekbone was showing. His eye rolled loosely in the socket as he tracked my movements. 

"I want justice, girl." 

"You got justice. You killed twenty-three boys that we know of. Twenty-nine, now, since six of the zombies we faced tonight were your preferred victim type. I'm betting there's more we haven't found. You deserve a whole hell of a lot more than burns." 

Valentine stood and picked at his cravat and the lace cuffs of his sleeves like a dandy, never taking his eyes off of me. I stared back stone-faced, though the act was ruined by the increased tempo of my heart. I could hear it in my ears, taste it at the back of my throat. I'd had to come inside alone or Malcolm and his flock were dead. I had no idea how many humans might be hostages in the building. That didn't mean I relished the thought of what came next. 

Valentine was going to finish the job he'd begun three years ago. I could still remember the sharp, sickening pain that came with the snap of bone. Still remembered his mouth on me, suckling the blood from the wound just above my decolletage. He'd probably meant it to feel sexual, I still remembered what he'd said when he'd cornered me. 

"From behind, I can pretend you're a boy. All blood tastes the same. You'll be beautiful just like my boys." 

He'd meant to make me the final death before he skipped town—to join the St. Louis kiss, I supposed. 

I'd been nameless then. A rookie hunter who'd only gotten through half the scrapes I'd found myself in through good luck and the oversight of veteran hunters. That rookie had beaten him and he was forced to wear the evidence on his person twenty-four seven. Now that I was the Executioner he didn't just have to kill me. He had to make it memorable too. 

Valentine approached, each step slow and deliberate, drawing out the torment. 

"You should hear your heart, Anita," Valentine purred. "It's going so fast. Do I frighten you?" 

"Yes." 

Valentine smirked, sinking into a more predatory posture as he began to circle me. It forced Malcolm to take a step back into the hall. I could see his pale, worried face peeking through the gap. He actually looked concerned for me. Plus one for the vampire con man. Maybe he had a soul in there after all. 

"You admit it? Don't you fear being called cowardly?" 

"No. Cowardice is coming at a person through proxies and hiding under masks, Valentine."

He'd stopped behind me so I couldn't see his face. I did feel his hands as they fisted into my coat, wrenching it off. The action in itself was shocking but didn't hurt overmuch. The bruises Burchard's attack had given me flared dully, but that was it. It hurt a little more when he wrenched the duffel bag from my grasp and threw it into the far corner. My supplies rolled from the half-open bag. Stakes, ammo, and a can of Aquanet rolled halfway to the table before stopping short. 

It stung like a bitch when Valentine reached the stakes in my hair. He took a fistful of curls along with them when he yanked. Involuntary tears pricked at the corner of my eyes and I couldn't contain the small scream it solicited. 

"Stop," Malcolm said quietly from the door. "Please for the love of God, stop." 

"God doesn't answer our prayers anymore, Reverend," Theresa said with a reproving tut. "No matter how good a boy you are, all vampires go to hell, right? I think there's a Don Bluth film and everything." 

Malcolm ignored the jab, which made me like him more. "She's got nothing to do with my dispute with your Master, Theresa. Leave her out of this. Erase this from her mind if you must but don't hurt her." 

"Too late for that, Malcolm. Jeanette's given her two marks." Aubrey spun the punch bowl's ladle like a baton. It was clean, thank God. I didn't need more blood on me. At least, not anyone else's. "Our fragile little flower wouldn't have survived the first thrashing I gave her without them." 

"Why aren't you in your box, Aubrey?" I tried to move toward him, but Valentine got a bruising grip on my bicep and yanked me back into him. 

Nikolaos had been punishing him. Had Theresa let him out? Maybe what Jeanette had said held some truth. Someone _was_ jockeying for power. Theresa, maybe? She'd been pretending to be Nikolaos when I'd met her. Maybe she was through acting as understudy to the role. Helping Valentine and Zachary with their vampire sacrifices was a means to that end. Eventually, someone was getting a stake in the back, but for now, they'd cooperate. The family that slays together...

Aubrey's snarl bared his fangs. "Get on with it, Valentine. Just leave enough of her intact that I can have a turn when you're through." 

Valentine released his grip and stroked his fingers down my bare arm, toying with the mounded scar tissue at the crook of my elbow. He used the other to sweep my hair away from my throat. I could feel his lips curve into a smile when they traced my skin. 

"I can leave her face pretty," Valentine said finally. "You do like the mouth, yes? Or must you insist on having her cunt?" 

It probably shouldn't have jarred me to hear the word fall so easily from him. He was planning to maim and kill me. Still, it just seemed so...crass, compared to the debonair exterior he'd donned. 

Aubrey laughed. "You don't have to say it like that. They don't bite. Maybe if you fucked her you'd like it." 

"Have you fucked a man to decide you don't like it?" Valentine countered. "Keep vexing me and I won't leave anything of her intact, Aubrey." 

Aubrey frowned but didn't belabor the point. 

Valentine sniffed me much the same way that Nikolaos had. He pressed the line of his body against my back and I felt him hard and eager against my ass. I'd thought he didn't like women. Or maybe he was getting off to the thought of torturing me? 

"Ah." He breathed the word out like a contented sigh. "You always remember the one that got away. I smell my Phillip on your skin, Executioner. Did you kill him?" 

I squeezed my eyes shut, though it didn't help. The memory of Phillip's last stand was seared to the back of my eyelids, imprinted forever into my brain, and destined to be a recurring nightmare. 

"No," I said, voice breaking. The threat of rape and torture hadn't broken me, but this had the potential to. "No, that was your friend Zachary. He used one of his zombies to do it." 

I wanted Valentine to be pissed at the revelation. Instead, he laughed. 

"Curtis, then? You allowed your dead lover to kill a friend. You knew he was a zombie and yet you still couldn't pull the trigger. How sentimental." 

"Don't you say his name," I snarled, thrashing in his grip. I'd only hurt myself but I couldn't help it. "You don't deserve to say his name you sick fuck!" 

Valentine's hands trailed lower and seized the waistband of the leather pants. They didn't stand up long to his strength and tore along the lines of least resistance. Pieces fell away at the seams and what didn't fall away immediately Valentine ripped off. It left me standing in the black thong Ronnie insisted I'd need to wear the pants without lines, and the top. In my opinion, the top was little better than a bra, because it covered only a little more than the push-up nightmare I wore. 

Even though I knew it was the helplessness getting Valentine off, not the nudity, it still hit every panic button I possessed. The last time someone had gotten me this undressed without consent I'd been beneath the bleachers with Clayton Snyder. I kicked and thrashed, and tried to bite, even though I'd be giving him what he really wanted—my fear. The terror blurred into one incessant thought; 

_Getoffmegetoffmegetoffme._

"Stop this!" Malcolm shouted, stepping into the doorway. There were tears brimming in those true blue eyes. "Stop hurting her, Valentine or I'll-" 

"Release the dead man's switch?" Theresa taunted. "But that'd be unfortunate for your followers in the upper levels, wouldn't it? We still have their coffins rigged to blow if you try anything. Be a good boy and watch." 

Valentine got another fistful of my hair when the remains of my pants had settled like black confetti on the carpeted floor of the lounge. He shoved his hand into my curls again, fingers digging into my scalp, and yanked me forward by a handful of my hair. Malcolm was shouting but helpless to do anything, Theresa was laughing and Aubrey merely watched with eager anticipation as I was dragged toward the opposite side of the room.

I didn't see the first blow coming. One second Valentine was dragging my thrashing body over to the small coffee station and the next he'd shoved my head forward so that the bridge of my nose collided with the edge of the countertop. 

Stars exploded behind my eyes and I probably lost consciousness for a second or two. Agony streaked through every bone in my face and squeezed more tears from my eyes. Damn it. 

The pain throbbed in time with my heartbeat and I was too bewildered by it to recognize that Valentine had allowed me to slump to the floor in a boneless pile. I couldn't have stood on my own. The room was starting to sway and no one but Malcolm would help me up. I doubted he could do it without blowing us all to Kingdom Come. 

When Valentine came to stand above me again, pinning my legs with his, he was clutching something in one gloved hand. I had to squint to see what it was and when I finally deciphered the shape, my stomach lurched. No, no, no. I'd take stabbed, shot, or beaten to a bloody pulp over being burned. Valentine could read it in my face because he let out another dark chuckle. He waggled the full coffee pot at me. Steam poured out the top in aromatic waves.

"I like symmetry, Executioner. Why don't I give you scars to match mine? The body first. I did promise Aubrey I'd not touch your fair face. Yet." 

"No!" 

He crouched, positioned the pot just beneath my left rib, and began to pour. 

It was instant agony anywhere the liquid touched. I thrashed, tried to strike out at him but I couldn't see. The tears were coming thick and fast. The screams were involuntary and came out at a volume I hadn't known I was capable of. The sound scraped my airway raw until it even hurt to scream. 

Valentine trailed the scalding stream down my side, my hip, my thigh, down my calves, and to my toes. The only mercy was that the coffee shed off the more rounded areas quickly. Sweat poured from my forehead, the backs of my knees, and my underarms. The heat? Maybe. Or maybe it was shock. My heart rate was through the roof, I was dizzy, and I desperately wanted to throw up. 

He didn't seem satisfied when the coffee ran out and broke the pot on the countertop. Glass rained down on me, a few pieces cutting furrows into my stomach and legs. I raised a hand weakly to shield my face from any incoming shards. Valentine threw the handle and metal ring that remained to the far corner and shifted to reach for a large shard. 

I seized on the minuscule opening and thrust a knee upward into his groin. A cheap shot, but I'd forgive myself for it if I left this building alive. Valentine wheezed and clutched himself, allowing me to pull both legs free. 

Standing was a no-go, so I Army crawled the two feet it would take to reach the spilled contents of the bag. I got my hands on the Aquanet and a stake before Valentine dragged me back by my ankle. The carpet burn was torture on injured legs. I'd probably left skin behind on the nice nylon fibers. 

"You little bitch! You'll regret that!" He dragged me into an upright position and I thought he might go for my throat. He paused, brow furrowing when he caught sight of the can in my hand. "What is that?" 

The question seemed to slip out and he didn't look like he wanted an answer, really. I gave him one anyway. 

"Aquanet, you uncultured asshole." 

I pressed down on the nozzle and aimed at his face. The effect was almost immediate. Valentine's skin smoked and sizzled, melting beneath the pressurized onslaught like suds on a car window. A quick sweep of the can disintegrated most of the skin left on his face. Blackened pits formed in his skin and ultimately gave way to bone. His eyes liquefied, dribbling from their sockets when the spray hit them. 

Valentine screamed as his face melted away. I hadn't mangled his voice box—yet.

The spray ate away at bone, if I kept it up long enough. I didn't have time to wait for it to hit his brain. I drew my other arm back, and, with an unintelligible bellow of rage, drove the stake into his empty eye socket. 

Blood gouted from the wound when I pulled the stake out. I brought it back down again, and again, and again, over and over until the head barely looked human anymore. Valentine's head looked like a chunky red pudding, with bits of gray matter and bone floating on top. I couldn't seem to stop, even when I was just stabbing into a puddle of gore. I just kept up a refrain as I stabbed, though I hadn't been aware I'd been speaking at first. 

"Die, you son of a bitch!"

I didn't hear the approach, but I did feel the needle prick my neck, and I did hear Theresa's voice as I listed sideways. 

"Thank you for saving me the trouble, Executioner," she purred. "Much obliged. Maybe I'll turn you when things are through." 

I thought I slurred a "fuck you" in response, but I wasn't sure it carried. I thought the accompanying gesture did, though. Maybe that was why she snapped the bones in my finger. I barely felt it as the cocktail of drugs dragged me under.


	20. Chapter 20

I woke in a pile of body parts. It said a lot about my life that it wasn't an unusual occurrence. 

It took me a minute or so to shake off the cobwebs and figure out whose severed arm my cheek had been resting on. The light here was dim, at least to human eyes, and tinged yellow, so it was hard to make out details. I ultimately decided it was Zachary's, judging by the gris-gris still attached to the bicep. Someone had taken a hacksaw to the meat there and sawed the whole thing off while he was living. I could only hope that had come before they dismembered the rest of him. His head was conspicuously missing. The torso had been mangled, the heart ripped out, the rest of him scattered like a macabre Lego set waiting to be put back together. 

There were too many parts to belong to Zachary alone, but it wasn't until I saw the lace cuff still clinging to the wrist of a severed hand that I realized who the other body was. 

Valentine. Someone had set me in a bed of my enemies' parts. That might have been satisfying if I'd killed Zachary as well or knew where the fuck I was. There were voices a little way off, but they were difficult to focus on.

I tried to sit up but couldn't. Dizziness dragged me under every time I tried. I was hurt too badly to move, which made me prey for whatever had ended Zachary. Not acceptable. My eyes drifted shut as I tried to think. They snapped open again a second later when a voice sounded just off to my right, much closer than the voices I'd heard before. 

"Draw on your Master's power, Anita." 

My eyes wheeled, searching for the speaker. I found him to my right, sitting adjacent to the pile of parts, but not in it. Lucky him. 

Malcolm was still clutching the dead man's switch, most of his jacket hiding the bomb. Why was he here? 

"What?" 

"Aubrey said Jeanette had given you two marks. Was he lying?" 

I gave up trying to sit up after the third time and groaned. One of Zachary's fingers tickled the side of my nose. It should have freaked me out. Instead, it annoyed me. My hands had been bound, so I couldn't even itch it. 

"God, I wish. She planted 'em on me when I wasn't looking." 

"That's good." 

"I beg to differ." 

He let out a sigh that told me I was trying his ample patience. "It may save our lives, Miss Blake. From what I gather, she's used your energy to keep herself alive. Employ the connection in reverse. Draw upon her power long enough to allow us to escape."

"She's trapped in a cross-wrapped coffin. If I take from her, I could kill her, right?" 

"No," Malcolm said. "It will be unpleasant but she will be unharmed. I'd still recommend freeing her as soon as possible."

"Mind giving me a little sage advice, Obi-Wan? I'm new to the ways of the Force."

He either didn't get it or didn't think it was funny. 

"Open yourself to her. You'll feel the connection. Allow Jeanette's essence to enter you."

I resisted the urge to crack a crude joke, sure he wouldn't appreciate it. 

Though I'd been psychically gifted most of my life, I had never really learned more than the basics of metaphysics, assuming I wouldn't need anything more advanced. I hadn't exactly planned to be connected to a Master vampire. So I reached out with the only thing I truly knew how to control. 

For some animating was simply a talent. You could drag it out any time you wanted, show it off to others, and put it safely back in its box when you were through. For those like Manny and me? It was involuntary. If I didn't raise the dead at least once a week things would animate around me whether I liked it or not. Apparently I was the worst case Bert had ever seen. Even Manny and the others at Animators Inc, who were some of the best, didn't raise humans when they'd gone long stretches. Human animation almost always required death. Not me, though. Wasn't I just a special little snowflake?

Releasing my ability felt like easing a clenched muscle. I was always unconsciously fighting not to animate and only got to relax at work. What an oxymoron. 

The power swept through the room we were in, touching at least five vampires as it passed. The distant voices cut off abruptly and I could almost see their heads turn toward us. I pushed my power further, brushing a few more vampires along the way before I found another cluster of them. Jeanette's power shone the brightest to me in the mental grid I'd composed and I pushed at her specifically. 

_Please,_ I urged silently, though I knew she couldn't hear. _Please, Jeanette. I need your help._

She didn't answer, as such, but after a moment I did feel something. A distinct pull, like a Northern Pike tugging at the end of a fishing line. The mental image allowed me to better visualize what I needed. I set my metaphorical feet and reeled that power toward me until it was close enough to touch and when it was within easy reach, I snatched it.

Easy strength flooded through my limbs as Jeanette's essence filled me. The sound I made in response was almost indecent. Her power was like sinking into an ice bath, without all the unpleasant side effects that would have on my burned skin. The shaking breath I drew in tasted faintly of blackberries. If I survived this, it might be my new favorite fruit. 

My hands were in honest-to-God manacles with chains attached to the wall. I'd been given enough slack to be able to move out of the pile of bodies, but that was about it. They fit snugly around my wrists and I had a sneaking suspicion they'd been forged to restrain things much stronger than a half-dead animator. I tried them anyway and only succeeded in wrenching my shoulder. The voices had started back up again and they were heading toward us. 

Burchard approached our position, kicking aside bits of Zachary and Valentine as he went, casual as you please. I'd bet he'd seen more than one vivisection in his day. He was closely trailed by another human. Apparently Nikky didn't trust me with her vampires. Smart. The new guy was built like a carnival strongman, much broader through the shoulders than your average gym rat. His waist tapered dramatically, and a fishnet shirt allowed me to see every rippling muscle. It wasn't much of a similarity, as he was taller, white-haired, and bite-free, but that one detail hit me harder than a Mack truck. 

Phillip. God, what had happened to him? I didn't imagine that Edward would have been bested by the likes of Theresa and Aubrey, but he may have made a tactical retreat if he had to. What would they have done to Phillip's body, if the others had been forced to leave it? Was he in the pile of jumbled pile of parts I'd been laying in? 

No. No Rafael wouldn't have allowed that, would he? 

"Winter, grab the reverend," Burchard said. "I'll take the Executioner." 

The meathead laughed, eyeing me like the last, charred bit of a burger on his plate. "This...little girl, is the Executioner? She doesn't look like much." 

Burchard leveled Winter with a look that gave the taller man a clear, wordless evaluation of his intelligence. 

"And our Master is smaller still. Contrary to what your boyfriends might have told you, Winter, size isn't everything. You haven't taken Theresa's marks. I'm stronger and I will restrain her." 

Winter bared his teeth just a little. All it revealed was a set of perfect Colgate-white teeth beneath. He didn't really have the equipment or practice needed for serious sneering. 

In the end, he did as he was told, stomping over to where Malcolm had slumped against the wall. Winter undid both manacles and hefted the spare vampire up like he weighed little more than a toothpick. He probably bench-pressed three times Malcolm's weight in the gym. Still, he was careful about it, placing restraining hands around the vest Malcolm still wore. 

"Don't move his arm," I warned. "It's a dead man's switch. If he releases the pressure on the mechanism we're all dead." 

Winter scowled at me. "Lies. Theresa and Aubrey discovered your plot. The vest has been dismantled. Your fear tactics won't work on us any longer, Executioner." 

My laugh came out dry and humorless. "Hey, Malcolm, you feeling safe over there?"

"Perhaps this isn't the time to be making jokes, Ms. Blake," he muttered.

"Nah, this is the perfect time to make jokes. Spit in the eye of the reaper and he'll wallop your ass to hell too fast for you to feel much." 

Burchard came to loom over me. He was good at it too. He very casually withdrew the Balisong from his vest pocket and showed it to me. 

"Defy my Mistress again and I will use this, Animator. No respite this time." 

I gave him a sardonic smile. "Defiant? Moi?" 

He scowled all the harder, flipping the blade out in one of those nifty twisting motions ordinarily reserved for action movies. Maybe Edward could show me the trick someday. He was almost as good with blades as he was with guns. 

"On your feet, Animator." 

"If you haven't noticed, I'm not in any position to be standing." 

I gestured down at my legs, assessing the damage for the first time. The sight almost made me cry all over again. My left leg was a mottled patchwork of red and pink flesh, pitted in places where the scalding liquid had a chance to settle longer. Large patches of it were shiny and swollen. Fat blisters had popped along the ridges of my knees and ankles. At least some of it had splashed onto my right leg because there were a few superficial burns there as well. It was a partial-thickness burn at the very least. 

I'd never considered myself overly vain, but the fact this would result in very marked scarring and possible loss of mobility had me on the verge of tears. If I could raise Valentine I'd end him all over again. Unfortunately, there was no raising vampires from the grave. They'd gotten their unlife, so there was no third try. 

Burchard's expression flickered, but it wasn't pity for me. He expelled an annoyed sigh and stooped to pick me up, holding me in such a way he could keep the blade pressed against my ribs and support most of my left side. I slung my arm around his waist and took the help, though I wasn't entirely sure I'd need it. With Jeanette's power riding me, I might have been able to limp along just fine. No need to let him know that. 

I tried to compile the facts as I knew them while we walked the short distance to where Nikky and the others were assembled. We were in the daytime resting place of the Saint Louis Kiss, which linked up with the Circus entrance somewhere. Edward had invested too much into his little recruitment campaign to lose me and he still had to fulfill his end of the contract and end the Master of the City. He'd be coming with enough firepower to end Nikky and the rest. I just had to stay alive long enough for him to find us. 

The body disposal room wasn't too far off from Nikky's chambers, as it turned out. Handy, I supposed. Maybe she had a chute for those messes that Mr. Clean just couldn't handle. The room was much the same as I remembered it. The doors were slightly open and there seemed to be more vampires in attendance than before, but that was the extent of the changes. 

Nikky had drawn herself up to her full height by the time we were escorted in, big white bow quivering with rage. Her power buzzed like a million fire ants over my skin, trying to pull away parts of my sanity in meaty chunks. Beside me, Malcolm let out a soft cry and tried to sag in Winter's arms. He was powerful but not powerful enough to resist her on his own. 

But I wasn't alone. With Jeanette's power inside me, it was unpleasant, but it didn't drag me down to my knees the way she'd intended. When she couldn't force me to react the way she wanted, the power lashed out at Malcolm instead. He screamed, his back bowing into a perfect arch, one hand splaying out in clear agony. He had just enough presence of mind to keep his fist clenched around the switch even under the assault, but I wasn't sure how much longer that would last. 

"Stop! If he releases that switch we're all going to die!" 

Nikky's eyes were pure fire shining from a skeletal face. "Lies! This pretender to power has sought to keep his people from me for years, threatening retribution if any blood-oathed themselves to me. Theresa and Aubrey uncovered the plot to usurp me."

"We're not lying," I panted. "I swear to God, Nikolaos. Could you take off your shiny aluminum foil hat for a minute and listen? Someone is trying to usurp you, but it's not Malcolm. Zachary cleared out a handful of Master vampires. I'm betting they were the five or six above Theresa in the line of succession." 

Nikolaos' eyes flickered very briefly toward Theresa. She'd found time to don a period piece again, this time shorter and easier to move in, but once again all in black. 

"Theresa found you with Zachary. You'd killed another vampire this night." 

"He was torturing her, Nikolaos," Malcolm wheezed. "And Aubrey was going to-" 

Aubrey stepped out of the throng of circling vampires and lunged for Malcolm. His fist collided with a meaty sound of impact and blood sprayed from Malcolm's mouth. I was shocked when a jumble of teeth didn't follow. Malcolm rocked back from the force of the blow but kept his grip on the switch. 

"Keep your sanctimonious mouth shut, you traitor," Aubrey growled. "Bad enough you've turned your back on our ways. Now you conspire with hunters and necromancers." 

"I'm not a necromancer," I snapped. "There hasn't been a true necromancer in a thousand years." 

I staggered out of Burchard's grip, taking one limping step toward his mistress. 

"Think, Nikolaos. It's not a coincidence that Theresa and Aubrey have been keeping to the fringes of the room near the door. They're betting they can get out while you're busy roasting like a marshmallow. What does Malcolm stand to gain from this? He's a mainstreamer. If these murders are connected to him in any way his Church suffers. Theresa knows that. When Malcolm goes off like an Independence Day party popper and kills us all, she's the only one left standing. The Church loses credibility and Average Joe vampire on the street is more likely to blood-oath to her. She knows that too."

Nikolaos hesitated. Like before on the catwalk, she looked remarkably childlike. She even chewed her lip in confusion, the way Josh had when he got stuck on a problem in grade school. She cast doubtful glances between Aubrey, Theresa, and I. I was getting through to her. 

So, of course, that was when Edward appeared in the doorway, a sawed-off shotgun snugged to his shoulder. His party attire was liberally spattered with gore, and even so, he managed to look completely unaffected. He barely adjusted his shades as he took aim. They'd be the newest tech that his organization had to offer. Last I'd heard they were trying to add a targeting system to the smart gear they sent with their operatives. 

Flanking him were Ronnie and Rafael. He'd grown monstrously tall and looked a little strange still wearing his denim jacket and jeans in his half-man form. It had many of the features of a rat, including the eyes, fur, and tail. It strayed damn close to the uncanny valley because I could see the shape of Rafael there, hidden under the fur and bulging muscle. 

Ronnie was covered in just as much blood as Edward and wore it just as well. It was like some sort of lurid Rorschach test. If I looked too long I'd see patterns. She still glittered faintly under the LED lights in the room. She'd hefted a fireman's ax over one shoulder. It dripped scarlet to the floor. Goddamn, but she looked good. Maybe she was in the wrong line of work. Veronica Sims, Vampire Hunter. That had an interesting ring to it. 

But as happy as I was to see her, it was so not the time for this. I'd been getting through to Nikky. Now Death and his minions had come knocking at her door. There'd be no reasoning with her now. 

Sure enough, by the time I turned to face her again, Nikolaos had risen as far as the ceiling would allow, hands forming rigid claws at her sides. 

"Kill them!" she screeched. "Kill the Executioner, kill the Rat King! Kill them all!" 

Well, fuck.


	21. Chapter 21

All hell broke loose. 

Every vampire in the room converged on Edward, Ronnie, and Rafael at once. At any other time, I'd have been backing Edward, no matter how unfortunate the timing. Right now I was unarmed and standing very close to a man who was wearing an admittedly well-constructed bomb, but a bomb nonetheless. I needed to get him as far away from the conflict as I could. 

I grabbed a hold of his navy suit jacket and hauled on his good arm, dragging him toward the narrow gap between the combatants, pushing through to the hall outside with just enough time to spare. A moment later Burchard took a swing at Ronnie and the gap closed. Someone screamed. I didn't have the time or the courage to rubberneck to see who'd done it. 

Malcolm and I staggered like a pair of drunks down the dimly-lit stone corridor. I was barely staying upright and Malcolm's motions were deliberately slow, in order to stop himself from moving the trigger. 

"Do you know where we're going?" he asked mildly after we'd been moving for about five minutes. The corridors never seemed to change. They were just endless stone tubes branching off this way and that. 

"No," I huffed. "I thought you might have an idea. Haven't you been here before?" 

"Nikolaos does not take outsiders into her place of rest without precautions." 

"Well fuck." 

Malcolm raised a brow at me. "I thought you always had a plan, Ms. Blake." 

"Sorry, I left the plan for this particular scenario in the Batmobile." 

He snorted. "Was that deliberate?" 

"What?" 

He motioned to himself with a wry smile. "Adam West Batman? Some days you just can't get rid of a bomb?" 

It took me a minute to get it and then I was laughing so hard my sides hurt. Laughing hard enough that fresh tears squeezed out of my eyes and my throat burned weakly from the effort. 

"Oh my God. No. I'm so sorry Malcolm I just-" 

I dissolved into another hysterical fit of giggles. I didn't do this. I never giggled. I really must be going into shock. 

"It's fine, Anita. But we need to get out of here. Can you sense Jeanette? If we free her, she's likely to know where we can find an exit. A call can be made to the bomb squad shortly thereafter." 

"Right, right." 

I pushed myself upright using the wall and swiped at my eyes. He had a point. We needed to get him defused quickly. I was betting either Aubrey or Theresa still had the button to manually override the dead man's switch. 

It was easier to find Jeanette once I'd made contact. Rather than try to reach for her this time, I allowed her to reel me in, closer and closer, taking turns as needed. It was like following a soft, familiar strain of sound to the singer, though the notes were only in my head. It grew louder and more compelling the further we went and within five minutes I found myself standing outside what looked like a dungeon pulled straight from a vampsploitation film. There were rows upon rows of coffins arranged in the space. Faux torches mounted in wall brackets provided the illusion of flickering firelight to illuminate the wide space. I wouldn't have been surprised if there were spiderwebs in the corners or a ghost hidden in the rafters. 

"Drama queens," Malcolm muttered from behind me, echoing my thoughts exactly. 

"There," I said, pointing at the second row. 

I didn't need the pull of her power any longer. I could tell which coffin was hers. There were two nearly identical oak coffins side by side, both trussed with chains and covered in crosses. Mo Cameron and Jeanette Davenay. She'd be in the shorter of the two, most likely. 

Limping along as fast as my injured leg would allow, I reached the side of her coffin and knelt. There wasn't even a padlock on the chains. The mere fact they were silver and covered in blessed objects would keep either vampire from escaping. It did make my job easier though. No need to go scouring the place for keys. I plucked the crosses off both and shoved at the heavy loops of chain until they rattled off the coffin lids. 

And again, just like one of the cheesy films I'd grown up on. The lids creaked up slowly to reveal the vampires within.

Mo looked worse than Jeanette, even though neither had been in all that long. Mo was waxier, his eyes wilder. It looked like he'd pulled his hair out in places and he had self-inflicted wounds on his cheek and neck where he'd attempted to claw at himself. 

Jeanette was pale, yes, but in an almost ethereal sort of way. Her skin was whole, her hair a little rumpled, and she had just the beginnings of dark circles beneath her eyes. She looked frazzled, but not insane. If you'd given her a cup of coffee and posed her against a rainy window, she'd look like an anti-depressant ad, not someone who'd just survived vampiric incarceration. 

Her eyes found me and her cherry lips parted invitingly, her need hitting me like a punch to the gut. 

"Don't," I whispered. "I can't, Jeanette. I don't have anything to give you. I'm barely upright." 

She looked at me then, really looked at me, and the frenzy in her eyes dimmed.

"Ma petite..." 

"There's no time, Jeanette. I need Mo to take Malcolm topside and call a bomb squad. Theresa and Aubrey rigged him to blow. You and I need to track down the blackmail material before this shitstorm spills into the corridors. I'm not sure how long Edward and the others can hold Nikolaos off. Can you do that for me?" 

Jeanette stared at me and then at Malcolm absorbing that. I had to imagine there was no ruder awakening than, "There's a bomb in your house." 

She licked her lips after a second and nodded. "Oui, ma petite." 

Jeanette was a good deal less shaky than I was when she climbed out of the coffin. Mo was quick to follow, still looking a little frenzied, but not quite as bloodthirsty as he had upon waking. Mo kept a safe distance from Malcolm as he led him back out the way we'd come. I really hoped this didn't reflect poorly on Malcolm when all was said and done. I didn't like his methods, but I didn't want him to face execution for a perceived terrorist attack either. 

Now that Jeanette was upright, her energy was returning to its rightful owner fast. I staggered midway through the next corridor as the burning returned full force. My knees folded and Jeanette had to catch me before I could hit the stone. 

"Who has done this to you, Anita? I'll see they suffer for this." 

"Already covered," I said with a breathless laugh. "He's dead." 

"Mores the pity," Jeanette muttered bitterly. "I would have roasted his manhood on a stick and fed it to him for this." 

I laughed again, this time at the image. It was somehow flattering that Jeanette would have performed a literal weenie roast for me. Would we have had s'mores as well? Sounded cozy. Revenge is a dish best served spit-roasted, I guess. 

Jeanette gathered me up in her arms then, carrying me the rest of the way to our destination. When she set me down again, we appeared to be in an office space. I was sitting in a swivel chair. The room around me had the same decor as the Burgess Price Building. A large executive desk. A lot of aged leather, bookshelves and the like. A few candles were burning on the desk. 

Jeanette rounded the desk quickly, rummaging behind it for something I couldn't see. She emerged a few minutes later with something small but recognizable. A safe.

"Do you have the key?" 

"Non," she said with a frown. "But I do not need one. Un moment s’il vous plaît."

Then she hefted the safe in one hand like it was a weighty softball and simply threw it across the room. It hit the stone wall opposite us with a thunderous crack. One side of the metal bent. Jeanette retrieved it and thew it again. She repeated the process until, on the sixth throw, the door burst open with a protesting squeal of metal. Then she seized a candle from the desktop, strode over, and dropped the whole thing inside. 

The contents within went up in smoke in moments. The tight knot of panic in my gut eased just a little. 

"Those can't be the only copies," I said slowly, leaning hard against the headrest. Her power had been about the only thing keeping me upright. Now that it was gone, I was in danger of passing out again. "She had to have uploaded some to the Cloud." 

"Non, ma petite. Nikolaos has never been...hip on technology, as the youths say. She has staff to do such menial tasks for her. She did not entrust this sensitive material to them. You are free. Please rest." 

"I can't," I protested. There was a thick edge to my words. I sounded like I'd taken cough syrup. Blackness was already eating at the edges of my vision. "I have to...I have to help Edward." 

"Death will find a way, Anita. Mo will call the authorities. All will be well, you'll see." 

I wanted to see that with my own damn eyes, thank you very much. And I would have told her so if my tongue had been cooperating.

My eyelids slid closed without my permission and any further thoughts I had on the matter were blotted out by merciful unconsciousness. The last thing I felt before I slipped off into dreams was the press of her cool lips to my cheek.


	22. Chapter 22

Jeanette was right, of course. Death always found a way. 

Ronnie had racked up four unofficial vampire kills on her first hunt. Not bad for a rookie. I'd killed the same number during my wedding. She could have made a good vampire executioner. I'd tried to convince her to give Manny a call, get a little on the job training. but she'd refused. She liked the comparatively quiet life of a PI. 

I couldn't blame her, after what we'd all gone through that night. Edward managed to kill Theresa and Aubrey with the same shot. Burchard had taken three to the chest before he'd gone down. Winter had ripped the shotgun from Edward's arm and broken his ulna in the same move. It hadn't saved him, ultimately. Edward still had four guns on his person. He'd chosen the Derringer. As he'd once told me; "It kicks like a sonofabitch, but press it under someone's chin, and it will blow their fucking head off."

Winter had learned that the hard way. 

Ronnie had been the star of the show, though. To hear Edward tell it, Nikolaos had managed to pin him, pry open his eyes, and bespell him. That might have been all she wrote for Death if not for one Veronica Sims. It had taken two strikes, but Ronnie had hacked the little vampire's head off with the fireman's ax. I swore that Edward had wood just from recounting the tale to me. I was glad she seemed to hate his fucking guts because I suspected he had a new recruit in mind. 

After that, it had just been an exercise in theater, as Jeanette might have put it. Once Nikky was gone, Rafael's people were free to back us, and back us they had. The rest of the Saint Louis Kiss had surrendered quietly after that. Edward only axed the ones he'd been paid for after that. While he would probably have found it fun to exterminate the entire Kiss, Death didn't work for free.

He and Ronnie had gotten me to the hospital not long after I'd passed out. My assessment had been correct. I had partial-thickness burns on most of my left leg...for the first few days. They began to improve somewhat around day five and some of the scarring began to reverse by day ten. The doctors had run me through a gauntlet of questions, going so far as the order tests to confirm therianthropy. They'd been flummoxed when the tests came back negative. 

I had a sneaking suspicion I knew why, but I held my tongue. I wasn't outing myself as a human servant. At least, not until I could figure out if there was a way to reverse the condition. 

I'd finally been released from the hospital at the two-week mark and allowed home, provided I had supervision. Ronnie had volunteered, probably fearing that Edward would leave me to fend for myself. She'd be right of course. 

We were arranged on my couch, watching television and eating Chinese food. The late-night news had become of great interest to us both as the fallout of our misadventure had begun to make itself known. 

Malcolm must have had a PR wizard stashed up his sleeve, because not only had he managed to come away from the whole thing unscathed, his church had actually _gained_ followers. Something about a little religious persecution always seems to shore up the power base nicely, at least here in the United States. Make something controversial and we're on it like white on rice. 

RPIT were getting media attention for solving the "District Serial Case." At least, that's what Dolph and the others were selling the public. In reality, I was on hiatus as a consult until Dolph could trust me again. I'd used lights and sirens without consulting him, gone on a highly dangerous and illegal zombie chase, and I'd walked into a confrontation with the suspected murderers without contacting the police or the bomb squad. At least I'd been able to point him in toward the remains of the six missing vampires that Nikolaos wanted me to find. It hadn't taken much to make those loyal to Theresa squeal. They'd been buried very near Valentine's recent victims. All of the little boys had been identified with dental records and handed over to their families for burial.

I understood why he was pissed, even if there wasn't much I could have done differently. If I'd been me, I'd have reamed my ass too. Maybe it was good that I'd be laying off for a while. I needed time to heal and a nice long break from vampire-slaying sounded excellent. I had other things to be worried about in the meantime.

Curtis' mother was suing me for Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress. While it couldn't be proven that I'd been the animator that raised her son as a flesh-eater, it was easy to prove that he'd been after me. Eyewitnesses had seen the zombie, heard it say my name. Along with the property damage and the possible abuse of a corpse charges, she stood a good chance of taking most of my savings. 

I'd tried to convince her to cremate Curtis this time, to prevent him from being raised. I'd shown up at her office to beg her if need be. 

She'd spit in my face and called the cops. 

Jeanette had paid for all of Phillip's funeral expenses. It'd been a very lovely nighttime ceremony. Lots of night-blooming flowers and black-clad mourners. A big, marble angel with its hands stretched to the heavens for a headstone. His parents hadn't attended, too ashamed of what he'd become after Valentine had been through with him. I think he'd probably have liked the turnout anyway if I'd ever gotten a chance to ask. He'd had a strange, eclectic family, but he had been loved. 

I hadn't stayed long. He'd died a painful, pointless death because I froze. I didn't deserve to share their grief when I'd been the cause of it. 

Ronnie threw a wadded up napkin at my head. It bounced off the side of my face, down one boob, and came to a stop in my potsticker plate. I scowled over at her. 

"What was that for?" 

"Stop staring mournfully at your plate, Anita. I know you're thinking of him. Phillip made his choices." 

"I should have shot Curtis," I muttered. "Curtis was dead. Phillip was alive." 

"Don't do that," she hissed, taking the plate from my hands. She gently removed my legs from her lap so she could sit up more fully and turn toward me. It sent prickles up my legs. We'd been like this so long mine had begun to fall asleep. 

"Do what?" 

"Don't castigate yourself. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you. I love you, Anita. I know I couldn't shoot you in the face even if you came back as a flesh-eating zombie. And I didn't date you all through college, live with you, fuck you, or propose to you. That's a whole hell of a lot to work through." 

There was no use arguing with her, even if she was wrong. When it came down to it, I'd had a choice. I'd made the wrong one. Arguing with her would just pick at the wound that'd barely begun to scab over and allow infection to get in. So I kept my mouth shut and glowered at the clock rolling beneath the news channel logo, willing it to move faster so I could take the next dose of Hydrocodone. I wanted to go to bed early. Maybe I could convince Ronnie not to sleep in the bed with me tonight, so I could go to pieces alone.

The hazy, half-formed plan evaporated when the next story came on. The headshot of a stunning brunette vampire flashed onscreen and the scrolling headline beneath proclaimed; 

"Saint Louis Supernatural Constituents Vote in Celeb as their new Master of the City." 

I almost rolled off the couch to reach the remote. 

"Anita! You could have just asked me to get it!" 

I thumbed the volume up, ignoring her. Anger pulsed through me as I began to see the whole picture. I needed to hear the rest of the story, just to be sure. 

The female reporter's smile never slipped, even when she spoke, like it had been screwed on too tight. Her teeth were distractedly white when contrasted with the coral shade of her lipstick. Her peroxide blonde hair was cut in an a-line bob that barely shifted when she moved. I was betting she'd shellacked it with enough hairspray to style an entire high school class on prom night. 

"After the distressing death of former Master of the City, Nikolaos Athanasiou and her second in command, Theresa Galanis, at the hands of the District Serial Killer, vacancies were once again opened within the preternatural governing body of Saint Louis. Elections were held yesterday and the results declared later the same evening. Jeanette Davenay assumed the title just after dusk, appointing local business owner and therianthrope leader, Raina Wallis to the position once occupied by Galanis. This marks the first therian-vampire collaboration in Saint Louis since-" 

But I tuned the rest of the newscast out, the roar of blood in my ears drowning out the rest of the reporter's words. 

"Anita?" Ronnie asked slowly, tone a little wary as she processed the look on my face. "Anita, what's wrong?" 

Everything was wrong. I felt like such a fucking idiot. Not only had I not solved the case, but I'd also fantastically missed the point of the whole thing. I'd been played. 

Standing was a special sort of torture. My skin was feverishly hot, shiny, and taut. Even though I was healing at an accelerated rate, the doctors estimated that at least half of the burns would be permanent. Common sense dictated I sit back down and take my medicine. Let the whole thing blow over. Stupid to risk life and limb to prove my point. 

I'd never had much common sense. 

Ronnie followed after me, trying to tug me back as I limped toward the front door. Where the hell had she put my Nikes? Fuck it. I'd walk into the office barefoot if I had to. 

"Where are you going, Anita? You're not supposed to be traveling." 

"I need to get to the Burgess-Price building," I muttered darkly. Jeanette had an appointment with pain, and I didn't want her to miss it. 

"Why?" 

I gave her a level look. She met my gaze for a good thirty seconds, a reproving look plastered on her face, trying to stare me into submission. It wasn't going to work. I'd never lost a staring contest yet. 

Eventually, she sighed. "We'll go, but I'm driving." 

"Shotgun." 

Now to find where I'd stashed mine.

***

It was disgustingly easy to bypass the security at the Burgess-Price building. Unlike the first time I'd set foot inside, there were at least three guards in the lobby. Their energy suggested they were more than human. They could have dogpiled me when the metal detector let out a shrill protest. They didn't. 

A stocky, middle-aged therian guided me up the stairs to the second floor when I'd made my terse request. He hadn't even asked for my gun. I remembered what Rafael had told me about vampire-therian relations. They were basically a slave caste, helpless against the pull of a strong Master Vampire. Maybe he was hoping I'd kill her. 

I stalked down the long, pale corridor with its many pictures, drawing a little on her power to propel myself faster. I wanted her to know I was coming. 

The office door was propped open. I'd been expected, it seemed. Maybe she'd known I'd put it together when word got out. Even my idiotic ass couldn't miss the big picture when someone shone a dazzling spotlight on it. 

She was artfully posed, leaning against the window. She'd opened the blinds, allowing the incandescent glow of the streetlamps to seep through. Gone was the image of fetish Barbie, with her many provocative outfits. The woman more closely resembled who she'd been in my dream. Suave, sophisticated, and a little more conservative. No less attractive, but with more dignity than she'd allowed herself to present while under Nikolaos' rule. 

Her hair was done up in the same neat twist, adorned with a sapphire hair comb. It matched the perfect royal blue of her blouse. It had been tucked neatly into the black pencil skirt. She wore matching black flats, which surprised me. I'd expected five-inch heels. Maybe she'd anticipated running tonight. 

I stood there staring at her long enough that she was finally forced to turn and face me. Her face was carefully neutral, her eyes guarded. She said nothing. It was up to me to start then. 

"You deserved that Oscar, you bitch," I seethed.

A muscle in her cheek twitched, but that was the only indication she gave that the statement bothered her. 

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mademoiselle Blake." 

I flicked the door stopper up and let the new glass door swing back into place. Maybe there'd be more candor if there was no one listening in. I doubted it, though. 

"It was you," I said, voice a deadly whisper. "You were behind all this. Someone was jockeying for power, alright. We just axed the wrong vampire. You set me up from the start." 

She leaned her weight more fully against the window. Just a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her full lips. 

"And how did you come to that conclusion, ma petite?" 

I almost snapped at her. But what good would it do to tell her to stop? She hadn't respected any of my wishes thus far. She wouldn't do it now, just because I ordered her not to. 

"You lied to me that night in my dream. You said you didn't know where the blackmail was being hidden and yet, somehow, you found it within minutes of being released. You knew where it was all along. If I'd been in any shape to think it over, that would have been my first clue. How long have you been following me, Jeanette? Three years? Four? How long has that blackmail been burning a hole in your pocket?" 

She was silent for so long I was sure she wouldn't answer. Maybe it was her form of denial. It was startling when she finally did speak, her rich, compelling voice stroking over my skin like a caress of velvet.

"Three," she said finally. "Since the night at Paramour. I saw you. Felt your power. I thought about taking you then." 

"As your servant?" 

The smile grew. "Among other things. You're quite beautiful, Anita. I wanted the press of your body against mine. The taste of you on my lips. It is not only your obedience I crave." 

Crave, present tense. My mouth felt a little dry all of a sudden. 

"I don't like women." 

Jeanette's smile didn't fade around the edges the way I'd hoped. 

"Can you see Giza from where you're standing, Anita?" 

"What?" 

"Because you're in denial." She drew it out, making it sound like two words instead of one. 

"I don't. You rolled me. Once in Iniquity and once in my dream." 

"I told you, Anita, you're almost entirely immune to me now. Whatever draw you feel is your own. And I know you feel the pull. I see it in your eyes. Perhaps you don't wish to touch me but you'd like it very much if I touched you." 

I had a sudden image of her between my thighs, pleasuring me the way Curtis had sometimes. I was ashamed of how much I liked the thought. I was straight. This was her doing, not mine. I'd keep telling myself that until I believed it. 

Her tongue darted out to briefly touch her lip, sending a zing of desire through me, and things low in my body clenched so hard it actually hurt. She read it on my face. Her eyes smoldered. 

"We could draw the blind on the door," she said conspiratorially, smirk truly devilish now. "The carpet is quite soft. Or perhaps on the desk? I think that would suit you better." 

"Did you know about Valentine?" 

That sobered her in an instant. She locked her expression down again, but not before I caught a hint of regret in her eyes. 

"No." 

"Bullshit." 

"I swear it to you, Anita. Valentine was refused entrance to the Kiss when he petitioned a second time. Nikolaos had become aware of his crimes by then. We have a prohibition against child vampires for a reason. They tend to be...unstable. Not all, but most. Child murderers are equally reviled. Theresa and Aubrey were dispatched to end him some time ago. It seems they were persuaded to do otherwise." 

"I know you engineered this, Davenay. I was fucking tortured because of what you'd done. You could at least tell the truth." 

"I am," she said, irritation bleeding into her tone at last. "I was unaware of their plot. I merely saw an opportunity and seized it. I gave the evidence to Nikolaos knowing precisely how she would use it. She liked to think herself clever, but she was a predictable little thing. Moroven's line was never prized for its intelligence. Belle gave me to Nikolaos knowing her nature was to torment." 

"Ah yes, the sob story. Yet more bullshit." 

Jeanette flinched, turning her head away once more. She stared out the window, seemingly at nothing. 

"That was not a fabrication. I was bartered for favors." 

I refused to feel pity. Not after what she'd done. 

"You knew I'd kill her." 

"I'd hoped. Belle would not absolve my debt to her until I could become the Master of the City where she'd sent me. She knew I could not best Nikolaos with force alone. It would require more creativity than that. She enjoys the long game." 

"You hired Edward. Why not do that in the first place? He could have ended her a long time ago." 

"But then I wouldn't have you. I wanted you close. I hadn't dared hope to put a mark on you during our first meeting, but fate was exceptionally kind. I have just one question for you, ma petite." 

"It's not like I can stop you." 

"Nikolaos feared you. I heard it from the survivors. She tried to drown you in fear but was frightened herself. What magic did you use?" 

"I didn't," I said, shuddering a little at the memory of that black, choking panic. "She dug around in my brain. It's not my fault that she came across a nightmare she couldn't handle. She only saw it once. I've been living with it for years." 

Jeanette cast me a curious glance. "A nightmare?" 

"Of a corpse. Nikolaos called her the Sweet Dark." 

Jeanette gave me wide eyes. "Marmee Noir." 

"That's the one. Who is she? Nikolaos didn't really elaborate. I just know she's supposedly your origin." 

Jeanette was trembling now. Actual shudders, not an affectation done for sympathy. Much like Nikolaos, she looked discomposed. 

"She is more than that, ma petite. Far more. She is...all-encompassing night. The blackness between stars. The first therian. The first vampire. It's rumored she was also a necromancer."

"You can't be all three of those things. It's just not possible."

"Marmee was. Perhaps still is. Let us pray the Dark Mother never stirs."

"You make her sound like some sort of Lovecraftian horror."

Her lips twisted, and her eyes were a little glassy. Was she about to cry? No. Just fucking no. She didn't get to go to pieces. It was my nightmare. My horror to work through. What the fuck did it mean that some sort of vampire boogeyman had been turning up in my dreams since I was a preteen?

"They say he saw her, you know. Lovecraft. That his mind was warped from the mere glimpse of her." 

"Was that also why he was such a racist bastard?" I asked dryly. 

She let out a humorless chuckle. "No, that was all his own prejudice. But the point remains. He saw her. He personified her the only way he knew how. A sleeping horror. In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming. Perhaps I'm a silly, superstitious woman. Perhaps she's out there, waiting. Perhaps not. I do not wish to find out."

This visit had taken a turn I'd never expected. I'd come here to deliver a message. Now I had yet another thing to worry about. I needed to be gone. But not before I made my point. 

I crossed over to the window, stood so that there were only inches between our bodies. Jeanette's breathing hitched and her gaze dropped to my mouth. 

"What would you give for a kiss?" I asked quietly. 

"What do you desire, ma petite?" 

I'd come here to hurt someone. Maybe I could help someone instead, even while making the point clearly. 

"There's an eighteen-year-old kid named Joshua Franks. He's dying of cancer and his mother wants him to join Malcolm's cult. He wants to be a therian instead. I like Rafael. Could you put the two in contact?" 

Rafael would take care of Joshua. I knew that somewhere deep in my bones. He'd keep the kid out of the vampire's clutches for me. Joshua could have a life. It was worth a kiss. 

"Of course, ma petite." 

We stood like that for a second. Awkward and unsure, on my part, anticipatory on hers. Maybe she expected me to initiate? I raised a hand tentatively, tracing the warm skin of her cheek. She'd fed tonight. It was so different than touching Curtis. Her skin was as soft as satin. No stubble. 

I lifted my face to her, an offering. She seized on it immediately. 

Her lips pressed to mine, warm and very enthusiastic. Again, it was different than Curtis. She was soft, where he'd been a little rough. She coaxed, instead of demanding something of me. When she tugged very gently on my lower lip with her teeth, an eager sound escaped me. Her tongue traced the seam of my mouth, tasting me. She moaned a little as well. 

It felt good. Too good. Mind tricks. It had to be. 

Jeanette froze when the business end of my Browning pushed under her left breast. It would be an angled shot, a little awkward, but it would get the job done. Our lips were still touching. My mouth caressed hers with every word, the intimate contact adding a layer of menace to the words I hadn't known I'd been capable of. There was just something wrong about mixing threats with your pleasure. 

"You manipulate me again, and I will kill you, Jeanette. Are we clear?" 

Jeanette swallowed thickly. "We're clear, Mademoiselle Blake."

"Good." I stepped away from her. 

She backed away another few paces, just to be safe. Well, safer. 

"You'd miss me," she whispered when I turned to walk away. "If you survived my death, you'd miss me, Anita. I know it." 

I didn't answer. I opened the door and limped away. I didn't say a word to any of the therians in the lobby or to Ronnie entire ride home. 

_You'd miss me, Anita._

She was right. Some part of me would miss her. Would think of that kiss until the day I died. 

And that scared the living hell out of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of that one! I'm planning to write the next installment, Gallows Humor, as soon as I've caught up on some of my ghostwriting work and finished the first installment of my Anita Blake/Dresden Files crossover fic, Graveyard Shift. I'll probably be alternating between the two as I write. I hoped everybody enjoyed it and that you'll continue to stick with the fix it fics I'm writing. Again, thank you all so much for reading and all the positive feedback you've given me so far. :)


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